


The Marriage Plot

by imitateslife



Series: A Life and Death Kind of Love [2]
Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/M, M/M, Rare Pair, Romantic Comedy, Rudyard Ruins Weddings, Ships established in an earlier fic, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Antigone Funn and Doctor Henry Edgeware have returned to Piffling Vale, engaged and excited to build a future together. However, since Piffling Vale has become a town, things for Antigone, Henry, and their community have changed. Now chief of staff at Chapman Community Hospital, Henry’s first hospital, St. Spratt’s is closing due to “unsafe working conditions”. In the old hospital, Antigone envisions something truly special: Piffling Vale’s first museum. Determined to make their town a place worth settling down in, Henry and Antigone become absorbed by their new projects. Distracted as they are, someone has to plan the wedding. And when Antigone’s twin  brother, Rudyard, appoints himself their wedding planner, what can possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Antigone Funn & Rudyard Funn, Dr. Henry Edgeware & Eric Chapman, Dr. Henry Edgeware & Georgie Crusoe, Dr. Henry Edgeware & Rudyard Funn, Dr. Henry Edgware/Antigone Funn, Eric Chapman & Antigone Funn, Eric Chapman & Georgie Crusoe, Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn, Georgie Crusoe & Antigone Funn, Georgie Crusoe & Rudyard Funn
Series: A Life and Death Kind of Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003872
Comments: 32
Kudos: 18





	1. An Announcement

“Have you checked in the mortuary?” Chapman asked, coming into Funn Funerals. 

Droplets of drizzly rain clung to his blond locks and he shook his hair dry by running a hand through it. Rudyard scowled at him. 

“Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “What would a parrot be doing in the mortuary?”

“It smells like Antigone. Maybe it makes her feel safe.”

“Birds don’t have  _ noses _ , Chapman,” Rudyard said. “Georgie, if you were an obscenely large blue-and-yellow macaw, where would  _ you _ hide?”

Georgie Crusoe, who had silently been judging her boss and his rival-turned-boyfriend as they frantically searched Funn Funerals for a parrot neither of them should have lost in the first place, pursed her lips. She lowered her can of off-brand cola and slid off the counter. 

“Actually, sir, parrots have highly developed olfactory glands,” Georgie said. “I read it in a science magazine.”

“So now you’re taking Chapman’s side?” Rudyard snapped. 

“No,” said Georgie. “I think if anything the way the mortuary smells would keep a parrot  _ out _ of the mortuary. They use their sense of smell for nuts and berries, probably. I think we can rule out the mortuary, unless Antigone was workin’ on a nut-and-berry embalming fluid.”

“Who knows what that woman was getting up to in that mortuary when she was here last? I certainly don’t  _ want _ to know.” Rudyard sniffed derisively. “It’s been ages since she and Henry went to France-”

“It’s been ten days,” said Chapman. 

“However long it’s been,” said Rudyard, “I don’t think Esther is in the mortuary and if she  _ is _ , that creates a whole host of new problems for us.” 

“I think wherever she is,” Chapman said, “our biggest problem is that Antigone and Henry are due to come back on the afternoon ferry, which, as  _ you _ pointed out this morning is notoriously bad at running to schedule.”

“Just because France is an hour ahead of us does  _ not _ mean the ferry ought to run on French time once it’s in English waters-”

“We’re  _ closer _ to France,” Georgie reminded him.

“That doesn’t help, does it?” Rudyard snapped. “It just means we have an hour less to find Esther and pretend we never lost her in the first place.” 

“Did you ask Madeline if she’d seen Esther?” Georgie asked. “Where  _ is _ she?”

“Post office,” said Rudyard. “Mailing off her most recent manuscript to her editor. She said it’s a romance novel. I asked if she wanted Antigone to read it first but she said she’d rather send it off before Antigone got home… which could either be in half an hour or an hour and a half, depending on whether the ferryman knows what time zone he’s in.”

“Could be sooner,” said Georgie, looking out the window. 

A ferry-shaped shape pushed through the Piffling fog. Rudyard and Chapman stared at it, horrified. 

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Chapman said. 

“Arrange for a moderately large iceberg to impede their progress?” asked Rudyard.

“I’m great at creatin’ replicas of James Cameron films,” Georgie said.

“No,” said Chapman. “You stall for time while I go look for Esther.”

“That’s a horrible idea,” said Rudyard. “You’re terrible with animals. You stall and I’ll go look for Esther.”

“We could just tell Dr. Edgeware the truth,” Georgie said.

Rudyard looked at Georgie as if she had suggested greeting the good doctor by slowly removing all of his fingernails. 

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Henry Edgeware is the best thing that’s happened to my sister in her adult life. I’m not jeopardizing her only chance at happiness because  _ someone _ left the window open.”

“We’ve all established that  _ you _ left the window open,” Georgie said. 

“That doesn’t matter. We’re in a state of crisis and we have a very small window of time to save the day. You’re coming with me to look for Esther.”

“Why?” Georgie asked. 

“Because it will look more suspicious if you and Chapman are hanging out in Funn Funerals without me.”

“But then it’ll just be Eric… hangin’ out in Funn Funerals. Which looks suspicious.”

“Right. So. Chapman, when Antigone asks-”

“I’ll tell her I’m here to surprise you.”

“I was going to say you should tell her you were robbing us.”

“Let me handle my own fake alibi,” Chapman said, resting his hand on Rudyard’s forearm. “Go find that parrot.”

A moment that might have been romantic passed between them but Rudyard eyed Chapman’s lips too warily to kiss them before pulling away and beckoning Georgie to follow.

“Don’t mess this up,” Georgie told Chapman as she followed Rudyard out the front door of Funn Funerals, into the misty rain to track down a macaw. 

This left Chapman utterly alone in Funn Funerals for the first time in his life. He swept his eyes around the ancient, peeling wallpaper and he sighed. Since Piffling Vale had become a town, thanks to Antigone and Rudyard’s machinations only a few weeks ago, much of the island was getting an update. Eric had plans to expand Chapman’s. Older buildings were being preserved or knocked down to make way for new and better infrastructure. Truthfully, Eric worried about seeing Henry next more than he let on to the others. Though medical care on Piffling was becoming a better-oiled-machine than it had been when only Henry Edgeware served as Piffling Vale’s medical provider, blueprints sat on Eric’s desk for an expansion to Chapman Community Hospital and the doctors were petitioning the mayor in Henry’s absence to consolidate their hospital system in one, state-of-the-art facility. St. Spratt’s wasn’t long for this world and Eric couldn’t gauge whether this would give Henry an avalanche or relief or send him back to the days before Piffling Vale was a town and everything in his life had gone to hell. Surely it couldn’t be all that bad with Antigone in his life now. Eric had never seen Henry happier, more energized, or more uncomfortably relaxed than he had been since Antigone entered his life. Well. “Entered” was a strong word. Perhaps it was more appropriate to say “since Henry and Antigone had taken the time to act upon their mutual pining.” Eric didn’t know much about love - though all of Piffling fancied him an expert - but judging by his own, recent experience with mutual pining…

He looked at the front door of Funn Funerals wistfully. Every time he’d tried to ask Rudyard when Rudyard had fallen in love with him, Rudyard said things like “Oh, the jury’s still out on that one” and “How dare you assume that I love you!” These things Rudyard usually said, of course, were said when he and Eric were curled up with television dinners and no television or holding hands across a table at Chapman’s over what was allegedly a business dinner, but that usually ended with a shy goodnight kiss in perfect view of the rest of the town. The one thing Eric envied Henry for was that he had gotten the Funn twin most likely to say the word “love”. Otherwise, Eric couldn’t help but think warmly that things had worked out for the best.

Or, rather, they would as soon as they found that parrot again. Why had Rudyard opened the kitchen window?

Later, once they’d found Esther and successfully lied to Henry and Antigone that babysitting here had been a breeze, he’d privately chastise Rudyard for his carelessness. He wasn’t so careless with Madeline. Why was Esther any different? What if they decided to get a dog together some day? They both wanted one and Madeline wouldn’t live forever. They could get a dog that loved them both and still brought Rudyard the paper and maybe brought each of them the right slippers. As Eric slipped into a daydream of a world in which Rudyard Funn consented to move in across the square with him and adopt a dog with him and build a life with him, he didn’t hear the door open or the conversation between a different pair of lovebirds as Antigone and Henry arrived home. 

“You’ve shown incredible self-restraint since we got off the ferry,” Henry said, hefting Antigone’s suitcase inside.

“Have I?” Antigone held the door for him, trying to look coyly at him through her lashes. “What do you mean by-”

“I mean you showed the ferry driver your ring six separate times and you haven’t stopped to tell anyone here in-”

“Oh, shut up,” Antigone rolled her eyes and slid her house key into the pocket of her dress. “So I was excited.”

“Was?”

“Am,” she corrected. “But it’s  _ different _ here. I know everyone and none of them know me and the only people I want to tell…. They aren’t  _ here _ are they?”

Henry looked around. His eyes alighted upon Chapman the same time Chapman plunged out of his reverie about Rudyard.

“Is one of those people Eric Chapman?”

“Eric Chapman?” she echoed. “Why would I want to tell Eric Chapman anything?”

“Because he’s standing in your foyer.”

“Chapman?” Antigone blinked as she, too, noticed Eric Chapman trying to look nonchalant as he leaned in the doorway leading from the foyer into the kitchen. 

“Oh, hello!” Chapman said. “How was France?”

“What are you doing here?” Antigone asked. “Where’s my miserable brother?”

“Oh- you know… out.”

“Rudyard doesn’t go out unless it’s with you.” Antigone narrowed her eyes. “Where’s Georgie?”

“Out. Also out.”

“And so you’re here. Unsupervised.”

“I mean-”

“Jesus wept! I leave that man alone for ten days and he’s already merged forces with Chapman’s! The nerve of that man! You may be in a relationship with my brother-”

“Can you remind him of that?” Chapman asked. 

“- but  _ I _ am his business partner and I don’t  _ care _ that you’ve been doing our embalming while I was on vacation with my fiancé, but I am a fifty percent owner of Funn Funerals and whatever deal my brother has made with you is void without my say-so. Do you understand that, Chapman?”

“... fiancé?” Chapman asked, as though he’d only heard a single word of Antigone’s tirade. Maybe he had only heard the one word. He certainly looked shocked enough until his face melted into his usual sun-warmed smile. “Antigone, that’s wonderful news! Henry, you clever man…. Congratulations to you both!” 

“Thanks, Eric-” Henry started to say.

“No! No. You don’t get to congratulate us. You weren’t even supposed to be here! You certainly weren’t supposed to be the first person I told about my engagement. Damn, damn, damn, damn-”

“I’m the first person you’ve told?”

“You’re really not,” said Henry. “She told the ferry driver on the way here.” 

Antigone blushed a deep pink. She mumbled to herself and Henry slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her close. For a moment, lost in each other’s company, they ignored Chapman. This, of course, didn’t sit well with Eric Chapman who, despite Piffling Vale’s expansion into a town and despite what others considered his questionable choice in partner, remained its most popular resident. Being ignored never sat well with him.

“Can I see the ring?” Chapman asked.

“No,” Antigone said, snapping back into focus. “Not until you tell me why you’re in my house without my brother.”

“I… Um… I’m… I’m here to surprise Rudyard. Big romantic gesture.”

“He’ll hate that.”

“Not as big as, you know, getting engaged.”

“But big?” Antigone echoed skeptically, raising a brow. 

“Well, not too big. Small, intimate, actually.”

“He’ll hate that too,” Antigone said. 

“You’re certainly nervous, Eric,” Henry said. Concern filled his hazel eyes as he pulled away from Antigone, a little regretfully to put his hand on Chapman’s shoulder. “If you  _ are _ going to propose to Rudyard, we’ll support you-”

“Henry will support you,” Antigone said. “It’s your funeral.”

Proud of her joke, she beamed at Henry. Henry smiled back, something witty on the tip of his tongue, cut off by Chapman’s nervous laughter. Gingerly, he took Henry’s hand off his shoulder. 

“I just said I  _ wasn’t _ going to propose to Rudyard,” he said. “Do you think I should?”

“Not on the day I announce my engagement!” Antigone’s eyes flashed angrily. “Or any day after that. If he says no, you’ll be ruined and if he says yes, you’ll be ruined.”

“Blimey," said Chapman. "Do you think marriage  _ ruins _ people?”

Henry looked immediately away from Chapman to Antigone. Antigone groaned. 

“I think  _ Rudyard _ ruins everything,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t know when he’ll be back? Maybe I can just go to yours tonight, Henry, let him think we extended our vacation…” 

Henry picked up the suitcase.

“We just need to get Esther,” he said, “and we can go back to mine. Where  _ is _ Esther?”

“Out,” said Chapman. “With Rudyard. They’re all out.”

“How does Madeline feel about that?” Antigone asked. 

“She- I- I’m sure she’s out too.”

“This is ridiculous. There’s nowhere interesting to go on this bloody island. Something’s not right. Chapman…”

The door to Funn Funerals swung open. Georgie carried a tray of coffees from Chapman’s and Rudyard carried Esther, Henry’s large blue-and-yellow macaw, who he seemed to be in deep conversation with. 

“- I mean, it’s not a crime that you  _ can’t _ read,” he said to her. “Really, Henry ought to let you  _ try _ , though. You’re reasonably intelligent and, from what Madeline tells me, a fantastic sculptor-”

“Rudyard!” Chapman said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you! And Esther!”

“Yeah, whatever, we got you a coffee,” said Georgie, shoving one of the eco-friendly Chapman’s Cafe cups at him. “Did we get back before-”

“Hello.”

“- Antigone!” Georgie shoved the coffee tray into Rudyard’s unencumbered arm and he struggled to hold it and the parrot as Georgie crossed the room to hug Antigone. It wasn’t a long hug, just something quick, exuberant that Antigone didn’t quite know how to return but appreciated nonetheless. “How was France?”

“Cinematic,” Antigone said with a sigh.

“Given the sort of cinema you watch, I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing,” Rudyard grumbled.

Antigone smirked over at Henry. He returned the look. She didn’t have to elaborate to give everyone in the room an uncomfortably clear picture of what her trip to France had been like. 

“We saw the Louvre - lots of museums, actually,” Henry said. “The smaller ones were better.”

“I told ya they would be,” Georgie said. “Go where the locals go.”

“The catacombs were amazing,” Antigone said.

“We took pictures,” said Henry, accepting Esther back from Rudyard. He looked at his parrot and smiled. “I’ll show you all of them some time. I need your help picking the best one.”

“Isn’t it a bit dark in the catacombs?” Chapman said. “I saw the Capuchin Catacombs in Palermo and I know it doesn’t compare-”

“We don’t need to sit through a slide show of all of your vacation photos,” Rudyard said. “It’s enough that you’re back and we can get to life as normal.”

“I was talking to Esther,” said Henry. “But speaking of life as normal, how are things? Any updates? No one telephoned me from the hospital so I assume you’re all well…”

“Busy,” Rudyard said. “The  _ town _ is expanding. Lots of archiving work in addition to the funeral home. But now that we’re at full capacity again…”

“Actually, Henry, I have something I need to tell you-” said Chapman.

“Can’t complain,” said Georgie. “It’s still Piffling Vale.” 

Henry clearly didn’t listen to anyone’s answer but Georgie’s as he looked at Antigone. Gripping her left hand in his right, he could feel the excitement radiating off her. A sort of glow - perhaps from the rest or the light sunburn or  _ happiness _ \- radiated from her. She was always stunning, but now, faced with her family, Henry was hit fully by the realization that he had asked this woman who had run through Paris and the French countryside with him like giddy twenty-somethings on a gap year, who he had changed the village into a town for, who he had loved since they were teenagers and hadn’t realized it until they’d both all but resigned themselves to loneliness to marry him - and she had said yes. She wanted to share life with him. He wanted to build her a life. He wanted to make his house into a home for her, not just a receptacle for his belongings and the place where they snuck off to shag or sleep or avoid Rudyard. He wanted to make her happy and she consented to let him spend the rest of their lives trying. 

And they hadn’t told her family. 

He hadn’t asked her family. 

Nerves buzzed through him like honeybees, producing and responding to all the sweetness in him. He took a deep breath. Antigone looked at him. Her eyes were wide and warm. They steadied him. Whatever her family said, they had made this choice together. Nothing would diminish that. 

“Do you want to tell them?”

Antigone bobbed on her toes.

“Why?” she asked. 

“Because we’re excited.” Henry lowered his voice. “Are you excited?”

“Yes, but they’ll ruin it,” she said. “Can we just bask in it a little longer?”

“Tell us what?” Rudyard asked. “Now, look here-”

“No, you look here,” Antigone said, pulling her hand from Henry’s. She thrust her engagement ring-clad hand towards him. “Henry asked me to marry him-”

The coffees Rudyard had been holding hit the floor. 

“Nice!” Georgie said, shooting a pair of finger guns at Henry, which he fumblingly returned with his now-free hand. 

“No,” Rudyard said. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?” asked Antigone. 

She looked at her brother and her best friend and her rival. These people mattered most in her life. She wanted them to be happy for her. And Rudyard was superb at ruining things and she’d told Henry time and again that he would try to ruin their happiness, but in a soft, secret part of her heart, she couldn’t help but think that when she went to meet Henry at the aisle, the person she wanted to escort her, terrible screw up though he was, would be her twin brother. But right now, staring at him and his simple “no”, Antigone could have strangled Rudyard. 

“I mean no,” said Rudyard. “You’re not engaged to him.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No,” Rudyard stammered. “You can’t be engaged to him. You can’t be engaged to anyone-”

“Why not? Is it so hard to believe someone would want to marry me-?”

“No one asked me!” Rudyard blurted out. “I should have been asked!”

“Well,” said Henry dryly, “I didn’t want to marry you, so I didn’t ask you.”

Rudyard rounded on him. 

“It is  _ traditional _ to ask the father of the bride-”

“You are  _ not _ my father!” Antigone snapped. 

She thought of her father for a moment and how much Rudyard looked like him right now: all anger and bitter disappointment. 

“No!” Rudyard said. “It’s worse because I am your older brother-”

“Rudyard-” Chapman said softly.

“Sir-” Georgie said reproachfully.

“Twin brother,” Antigone said automatically. 

This was a conversation all three of them had been in some variation of. Henry had not and remained silent. Esther stretched and gave a squawk. 

Silence boiled between them. The steam rose through the roof of Funn Funerals. Rudyard breathed it in slowly. 

“As the patriarch of this family,” he said with forced calm, “I must approve your betrothed before you may be engaged. How do we know he can provide for you?”

“I’m a doctor,” Henry said flatly, “and chief of the hospital staff. I think we’ll manage.”

“You don't have to wave your credentials in my face,  _ Mister  _ Edgeware. How do I know you'll make Antigone happy?” Rudyard asked. 

“Have you ever asked her?” Henry asked. “I think Antigone can tell you whether or not she’s happy.”

“This is  _ absurd _ ,” Antigone said with a sigh. “Rudyard,  _ you’re _ absurd.”

“How do I know he won’t hurt you?” Rudyard asked. “That he’ll treat you the way a man ought to treat a wife - whatever  _ that _ means? If he  _ ever _ does  _ anything _ to harm you-”

“I’ll have to answer to Georgie,” Henry said. “You’ve told me before.”

“Honestly, I'm not fussed,” Georgie said. “I think you two are a great couple. Cheers, guys. Let me know when you set a date.”

“Traitor,” Rudyard hissed.

“Antigone is a grown woman, Rudyard,” Chapman said. “And she could do worse than a successful man who absolutely worships her-”

“It just seems… fast,” Rudyard said. “Call me old-fashioned-”

“I’ve known him for thirty-five years!” Antigone shouted. “How much longer would you want me to have known him?”

“You’ve only been dating for two and a half months,” Rudyard said. “I hate to be indelicate-”

“Yeah, right,” said Georgie.

“But is this wedding perhaps one of… convenience?”

“How dare you! I assure you Henry is not marrying me because it 'convenient'!” Antigone snapped. “Henry, tell my brother how inconvenient I can be!” 

“I wouldn’t say ‘inconvenient’-”

“Smart man,” said Georgie. 

“- But you certainly have high standards, which I strive to meet.”

“No,” Rudyard said with a sigh. “How do I put this? Antigone, are you, by any chance…”

Rudyard bit his lip and waited for someone, anyone, to fill in the blanks as Henry, Antigone, Chapman, and Georgie stared at him. Georgie was great at filling in the blanks.

“Knocked up?”

“Excuse me?!” screeched Antigone. 

“Yes, that,” said Rudyard. 

“ _ Rudyard… _ ” said Chapman. 

He was a little too late to rein his boyfriend back in and far too late to protect him from the way Antigone pinched the tender flesh behind his elbow. Rudyard yelped and struggled to get free.

“Why do you think I’d have to be  _ pregnant _ for Henry to want to marry me?” she hissed. “Why can’t you understand that Henry and I love each other and want to get married?”

“I can’t understand why anyone would want to get married at all!” he protested, pushing at Antigone’s hand. “Stop  _ pinching _ me!”

Henry shot Chapman a sympathetic look, but didn’t try to read the shattered look on Chapman's face. There were more important things here. Instead, he focused his copious energy on Rudyard. He took Antigone’s hand in his and pried it from Rudyard. This was the only mercy he would show. 

“You don’t have to understand,” he said. Anger and exhaustion - emotions he usually felt around Rudyard Funn - crept into his voice. “We aren’t asking for your blessing. I am in love with Antigone and I want to spend the rest of my life devoted to her and I thank God every day that she took a chance on me at my worst. I’m going to give her the best life I can or die trying because she has agreed to marry me. You don’t have to understand it. You don’t have to like it. But if you love your sister, you will respect her decision.”

“Yes, all right.” Rudyard rubbed his elbow. “But how do you plan to sustain an amicable marriage living in separate houses?”

“I’m not living in this house a moment longer,” Antigone said. “Not with you. Henry, how would you feel if I moved in before the wedding?”

“I gave you a key for a reason,” he said. “Do you want to go?”

“All my things are in that suitcase,” she said.

“You still work here!” Rudyard said desperately. “And we have a fresh body for you in the basement.”

“Then I will see you at work tomorrow,” Antigone said, picking up her suitcase. “Georgie… Chapman… thank you. It means a lot that  _ someone  _ is happy for us.”

“Sure thing,” Chapman said, voice a little hollow. Georgie cast him a look. 

“He’ll come around,” Georgie said, nodding to Rudyard. “But you guys have my support.”

“I’ll be back,” Antigone promised. 

“Every now and again,” Esther croaked. 

Antigone smiled shakily and didn’t look back as she and Henry left Funn Funerals. Silence descended upon the three humans who remained in the foyer, staring at each other. 

“What the hell was that?” Georgie asked Rudyard, voice low and deadly. “You were just saying how Dr. Edgeware is the best thing that’s happened to Antigone!”

“Fifty percent of all marriages fail,” he said, voice soft and aching. “And I’ve seen what happens when they don’t. She’ll be back. She has to come back.”

“She just said she’ll be back for work tomorrow,” Georgie said. “You better practice suckin’ up.”

“Well, at least we didn’t have to tell them we lost the parrot,” Rudyard said, sighing. “I’m sure it would have been much worse if we had to have that conversation, too.”

“Sure thing,” said Chapman quietly. “You know, since you have your mortician back, I don’t suppose you need me hanging about…”

“Come back for breakfast,” Rudyard said. “I’ll need someone to practice sucking up to before Antigone gets in.”

Hope glimmered across Chapman’s features. 

“Enjoy yourselves,” he said, voice still soft, but a little warmer, a little more like himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Chapman left, Madeline returned from the post office. Rudyard scooped her up, cradling her in hand before ushering her into his pocket.

“I just want her to be happy,” he told Georgie. “Do you think Antigone knows that?”

Georgie blew out a heavy sigh. 

“Rudyard… She is happy,” she said. 

Rudyard looked at Georgie as if she was speaking Catalan. Head tilted, he frowned. 

“Is she?”

“She’s engaged to the man she loves. You don’t get much happier than that.”

“I ruined it,” he murmured. 

“Just the moment,” Georgie said. “She’s still happy with Henry.”

“I’m going to have to do something big to make up for today.”

“I don’t love the sound of that,” Georgie said. “Just apologize.”

“No. I have to make it up to her,” Rudyard said. “And I know just how to do that.”

“Sir…”

“I’m going to give Antigone the best wedding present anyone could ever ask for,” Rudyard said. “Just you wait.”


	2. Anger, Autumn Weddings, and Apologies

“Can you believe the nerve of the man?” Antigone asked, storming into Henry’s living room, suitcase in tow. She slammed it down on the wooden floor. 

Esther launched from Henry’s arm to flutter on top of her cage. Henry watched Antigone, muttering to herself and tearing at her hair with silent wonder. He considered telling her that he could very well believe Rudyard Funn would be insensitive enough to ruin their engagement announcement, but he knew that wouldn’t get them anywhere. Even if Antigone knew as well as he did that her brother was insensitive and marvelous at ruining marvelous occasions, very clearly some part of her had hoped Rudyard would be happy for her. Henry was very glad he was an only child. Crossing the room, he took her hands in his and kissed her. The kiss, without asking or warning startled Antigone into silence. She looked up at Henry. A wavering smile stumbled onto her lips. 

“Welcome home,” he said. 

“Home,” she echoed, a little sadly, looking around the living room. “I’d hoped that you’d carry me over the threshold one day and say ‘ _Welcome home, Mrs. Edgeware_.’ like a romantic movie.” 

“Are you planning to take my last name, then?” Henry asked. “Antigone Edgeware. That sounds very regal, very fitting. Or we could hyphenate. Edgeware-Funn or Funn-Edgeware…”

“I must have written it all those ways in my notebook when we were in school. I still have the notebooks.”

“I’d like to see them.”

“You can’t!” Antigone stammered, carding her fingers through her hair. 

“Is your crush on me still a secret?” Henry teased. “I think that cat is out of the bag…”

“They’re in the attic,” Antigone said. “At Funn Funerals.”

“So when you said you had all of your belongings, you-”

“- were bluffing, yes,” she said. “I didn’t think he’d actually let us walk out. I thought he’d follow us down the street, yelling.”

“That would have been very in-keeping with everything I know about your brother.”

“So that’s two things he’s botched,” Antigone said. “Our announcement and us moving in together.”

“I don’t think he’s totally botched either of those things,” Henry said. “We still have a whole town to tell and if we choose to live here, tonight is only the first night of the rest of our lives.”

“But that should be our wedding night!” Antigone moaned. “I wanted to do this _right_ …!”

“And we will,” said Henry. “Just because Rudyard couldn’t take the news with grace…”

“I don’t know what I expected,” she confessed. “Why did I think for a moment Rudyard would know how to be happy for us? This is why I am never optimistic.”

Henry chuckled weakly. He held her close. 

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I should have at least pretended to ask him. He wouldn’t have been that hard to trick into thinking he’d arranged the whole thing.”

“He doesn’t deserve credit for our relationship,” Antigone said. “So he counted a couple census documents...”

“Which, in turn, got us more doctors. I owed him at least a little courtesy.”

“Asking for a male relative’s consent to a marriage is antiquated and sexist,” Antigone said. “I’m not a thing.”

“I know,” Henry said. “And I agree. I just wish I could have spared you… whatever that was.”

“No one has spared me from Rudyard for thirty five years. Sometimes I think I stayed in my mother’s womb for an extra week because I knew it’d be the last time I knew peace.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’ve met Rudyard.”

Henry made a soft noise of assent. 

“Let’s set your brother aside for the night,” he suggested. “You’ll have to deal with enough of him tomorrow.”

“Christ. Tomorrow.” Antigone clung to Henry’s shirt. “He isn’t going to leave me in peace. What can I even say to him?”

“I don’t have siblings.” Henry stroked her hair. “But I imagine honesty is the best policy.”

“He won’t listen. He never listens,” Antigone said. “What do I tell him? That I’d hoped he’d be happy for me? That I wanted him to walk me down the aisle? That now I don’t know if I want him in my wedding at all, but I also don’t want to regret excluding him for the rest of my life?”

“Inhale while I count to seven…”

A breathing exercise and slow kiss later found them in the kitchen making dinner as sundown loomed in the sky. Antigone watched it as she sliced carrots and Henry started a beef base for stew. Neither of them were particularly good cooks and neither of them had taken time to learn. The ten days in France had made them both utterly forget this fact, however, and the scent of distinctly English cooking seemed to match the drab, disappointed normalcy Antigone felt. She’d wanted their engagement announcement to be special. She’d wanted Rudyard to be a little blustery about being asked, but not to the degree he had been. She’d wanted him to pretend to give Henry a hard time and then tell her privately that he was happy for her. Maybe he’d redeem himself tomorrow. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. Casting her gaze at Henry, who watched the meat braise in the pot with a look of consternation, she realized that she wasn’t the only one going back to work tomorrow and that maybe, just maybe, she’d botched her move into Henry’s home - their home, now - by being too ungrateful. She sucked in a hesitant breath.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him. 

He sighed.

“Work.” 

“Ah, yes. Chief of staff-”

“- Of two hospitals,” he said. “It’s more work than I had before.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It feels like it,” Henry confessed. He paused, then said, “I still don’t know all my new doctors’ names.”

“Henry!”

“I knew them for a month and then we left for ten days,” he said. “And the leadership responsibilities I’ll have…”

Antigone set down the knife and the carrots and turned her fiancé to look at her. He smiled softly while she swiped her thumb under the tender, greyish skin under Henry’s eyes. She supposed he would always look a little sleep deprived - he’d spent too many years juggling all of Piffling Vale’s medical cases not to - and she had a quiet fondness for the lines and bags under his eyes. She loved his eyes: the way they could stare deeply into her soul and make her feel as desirable as a romance heroine and as seen as if she was the most important person in every room. His eyes were intelligent. Kind. When people said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, they were serious: a corpse lacked the spark of life in a living person. Kissing Henry, she could feel his spark of life meet hers. She considered pushing him onto the counter and climbing atop him. It’d be nice to forget today and tomorrow and everything but the feel of Henry’s skin… Antigone shivered at the thought, but was too tired, too sad to act on it. 

“Do you want me to distract you?” she asked. 

“More than anything.” Henry fondled her neck and trailed kisses down the sensitive lines of her veins. Antigone gasped. “So, let’s talk about the wedding: I’m thinking of an autumn wedding.”

“Mmm.” Antigone arched her neck eagerly. “Why?”

“Because it’s a season of change and because whether you wear white or break tradition, you’ll look striking against the fall foliage-”

“Oh god. Can I wear white?” Antigone pulled away. “White is for virgins.”

“I thought you didn’t like archaic, sexist traditions.” Henry arched his eyebrows. “Virginity is a construct. A woman can just as easily tear her hymen from horseback riding as-”

“Please don’t be a doctor about this, Henry. Just be my fiancé.”

“Okay. So, if white is for virgins, what would you wear?” 

“I don’t have many dresses…”

“Do you still have your mother’s wedding dress?” Henry asked. “In the attic with your old notebooks?”

“Do you remember my mother, Henry?” Antigone asked. “Or my father? That dress is cursed and I won’t wear it for my wedding.”

Henry nodded. He remembered Mr.- and Mrs. Funn dimly. They were dour people. His mother had never liked them much, but Henry had always assumed that was because Mr. Funn occasionally mailed everyone pamphlets of books that ought to be banned and Mrs. Funn believed children should be seen and not heard - especially other people’s children. He’d never thought much about their marriage or what it must have been like to grow up with them as parents. He ghosted his thumb below Antigone’s earlobe. 

“You mean that metaphorically, right?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “But the type of marriage it represents…. That isn’t what I want from you.”

“What do you want from me?” Henry asked, continuing to stroke her neck until she began to stammer and moan, She kissed him again and it seemed to satisfy her. He smiled at her. “What sort of marriage do we want?”

“Shouldn’t we plan the wedding first?” Antigone asked. “There are so many artistic details to sort…”

“The wedding is just one day,” Henry said. “Our marriage is our life. I care more about what our future is going to be like. As long as you’re the one coming down the aisle to me, the rest of the wedding can be whatever you want.”

“Henry… That’s sweet but I won’t have you use my romantic nature to trick me into planning the whole wedding myself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Henry said. “I’m serious. We should talk about our future together… what we want, what we won’t tolerate… My parents did counseling with Reverend Wavering before their marriage and what I remember of their marriage, it was a good one.”

Henry’s father had died in a freak bicycle accident when Henry was young. He had vague memories of his parents being happy. His mother had often told him how good a man his father had been. She never remarried. He wished he could ask her for advice. She had loved Antigone - she would have loved to have her as a daughter-in-law. 

“Do you really think Reverend Wavering is qualified to provide marriage counseling?” Antigone asked.

Henry shrugged.

“He and Mayor Desmond seem happy.”

“Do you think we _need_ counseling?” 

Henry hesitated. 

“Maybe not,” he said. “But there are things we should talk about. Work boundaries, family…”

“I don’t want to talk about Rudyard any more tonight.”

“ _Our_ family,” Henry amended. 

“If you accuse me of being pregnant, too-”

“No,” Henry cupped her cheek in his hand. “But someday… do we want children?”

“I’m allergic to children. It’s in my medical file. You put it in there before we started dating.”

“Yes,” Henry said. “But you’re allergic to flowers and you take allergy pills for them.”

“Do you _want_ children?” Antigone asked, voice flickering between timidity and threat. 

“Not actively,” Henry said. Antigone relaxed against him again. “But I think it’s reasonable to know it’s a possibility. I wouldn’t be _opposed_ if it happened.”

“If I got pregnant, I’d have to stop working. The chemicals in a mortuary could severely harm a baby.”

“True, but it’d get you away from Rudyard for nine months.”

Antigone laughed - a piercing sound, but relaxed and happy, one Henry loved surprising out of her. She leaned into him. 

“That’s tempting,” she said. “If tomorrow goes horribly, I may reconsider my position.”

“Speaking of positions, Miss Funn....” 

Henry grinned wickedly at her. His eyebrows lifted. Antigone, dry-throated and blushing, looked up at him with an eager smile. 

“Yes, _Doctor Edgeware_?”

“You have me pinned to the stove. I will burn something - dinner or my hand - if you push me back any further.”

More laughter. Antigone’s first night living with Henry was christened with cooking and lovemaking and other distractions. In the morning, there would be tea and toast and kisses that tasted of jam and coffee. Even though the circumstances that prompted Antigone to move in angered her, she thought that she could certainly get used to coming home to this instead of her brother’s shouting and a lonely mortuary. She could handle anything Rudyard threw at her at work if she got to come home to this every single day. 

Morning at Funn Funerals did not bring such domestic bliss - but there was a kind of domesticity as Eric Chapman sat at the kitchen table and Rudyard rambled and tried to cook sausages without charring them. He paid very little attention to the contents of the pan - as evidenced by the rubbery eggs Chapman now politely poked at. Beside him was a stack of papers - a list of bullet-points and time tables titled “Rudyard’s Apology”. Chapman had read it twice and could say with confidence -

“This isn’t an apology.” 

“That’s the brilliance of it!” Rudyard said. “It’s more than an apology. It’s a _gesture_.”

It was an itinerary for a wedding. 

“Rudyard, I say this as someone who cares very, very deeply about all three of you,” said Chapman, “but the only ‘gesture’ Antigone wants that involves you would involve her middle finger being waved in your general direction.”

“That’s not very encouraging,” Rudyard said. “After I designed the perfect wedding for her and Doctor Edgeware-”

“Again, this ‘gesture’ of yours may not be something Antigone wants.”

“Well, you are the expert on what _everyone_ wants, what would _you_ plan differently for a wedding?” 

“Do you really want to know?”

“I do.”

“No one wants to get married at nine in the morning and then have a brunch _without_ alcohol.”

“I don’t want a brunch with alcohol,” said Rudyard, folding his arms.

“All right, so when you get married, don’t have one,” said Chapman. “And you’ve scheduled it for a week day.” 

“Statistically there are more funerals on the weekend. I wanted to be considerate of Antigone’s work schedule.”

“You’re not going to make her work on her wedding day?”

“If she gets married in the morning, I can have her working in the mortuary in the afternoon. She loves the mortuary.”

“Right, but on your wedding day, shouldn’t you spend time with your new husband?”

“They’ll have the rest of their lives to spend together, won’t they?” Rudyard asked. 

“But the wedding night-”

“Can happen after business hours,” Rudyard said. “Surely…”

“What if…” Chapman rose and took Rudyard’s hands in his. “You just said ‘I’m sorry’ to Antigone and I made a few, strategic edits-”

“- So you can take credit for my work!” Rudyard swatted Chapman’s hand lightly with the spatula he’d been pushing the sausages around with. “Absolutely not! I _know_ you’re trying to get into Henry’s good graces, Chapman…”

“Well, _yes_ ,” Chapman said, rubbing his scolded knuckles. “I have to tell him about the hospital before the mayor does. Now that he’s gotten a full night’s rest, Henry could kill Desmond with his bare hands if he was angry enough-”

“That’s hardly encouraging.” Rudyard turned back to the sausages. “I don’t want to think the man marrying my sister has violent tendencies.”

“He _doesn’t_ ,” Chapman said. “But how would you feel if someone told you that you had to bulldoze Funn Funerals because there was a new funeral home with better equipment being built?”

Rudyard turned to glare at his boyfriend. 

“Oh,” said Chapman softly. 

“I would lay down in front of any bulldozer you threw my way, Eric Chapman,” he said. “If you have _plans_ ….”

“I don’t!” Chapman’s shoulders squared. “But Mayor Desmond signed the order to tear down St. Spratt’s. It’s apparently ‘unfit to provide medical treatment’ and when Henry hears that, he’s going to be devastated. He put his heart and soul into that hospital.” 

“Funny that you feel guilt for setting up a second hospital, but not a second funeral home…”

“Let me help you with the wedding plans,” Chapman said, putting his hands on Rudyard’s shoulders and sliding them down to his arms. “You’re amazing at scheduling things and I know what people like. And we make a pretty good team - especially when united for Antigone and Henry.”

“We’re doing this for Antigone and Henry,” Rudyard said, smiling a little.

“So let me reread the plans while you apologize to your sister and tonight I’ll take you out for dinner and we’ll put our heads together…”

Before Rudyard could reply smoke began to billow from the sausages and the front door to Funn Funerals opened. As Rudyard wrestled with the burner, Chapman poised to greet Antigone with a large smile. Antigone didn’t notice him.

“Jesus wept!” she shouted, choking through the smoke. “I move out for one day and you’re trying to burn down our ancestral home-”

“I was _trying_ to cook breakfast!” Rudyard protested. “If _Chapman_ hadn’t been distracting me-”

“Hello!”

“Oh, God, why are you here?” Antigone said, throwing open the kitchen window. “Tell me you were a fire marshall once, a long time ago…”

Watching her, Chapman suddenly remembered _why_ Rudyard had opened the window yesterday in the first place. He blushed as he remembered trying to distract Rudyard while he made cheese baps and the sunlight illuminated his pale features through the window glass and Chapman had been overcome with the urge to distract Rudyard and he’d kissed him until smoke filled the kitchen. They were very lucky Reverend Wavering was expanding the fire brigade. 

“No, but I did a few ride-alongs as an EMT a long t-”

Antigone rolled her eyes. 

“You said you had a fresh body for me in the mortuary,” she said to Rudyard. “I’d like to get started.”

“Glad to see you’re still devoted to your job, even if you no longer live here-”

“I’m going to my mortuary.”

“There are two bodies down there,” Rudyard said. “We have a funeral in three hours. Everything is ready.”

“I don’t trust it when you say that,” Antigone said. “I’m going to see.”

“I’ll go with you. I want to finish dressing Mr. Hood,” Rudyard said. “I’m very good at dressing corpses, apparently.”

“Who told you that? Your boyfriend?”

They both descended the stairs to the mortuary. On the table was the deceased Mr. Hood - famous in Piffling for his archery skills. Not many people in Piffling Vale practiced archery and Mr. Hood had been able to shoot a target with sniper-like precision and often did so for the amusement of his first grade class by setting an apple on a fence post and demonstrating his prowess. It was somehow fitting that the one time he missed his target, the arrow ricocheted and caught him in the neck. Chapman had done a good enough job making him into a presentable corpse, but whatever Rudyard felt for Chapman, he secretly thought Antigone could have done a better job. She clearly thought so too. The embalming fluids were commercial, after all. She would have gone for something outdoorsy with a hint of apple scent to it. She sighed. Even though she didn’t want to, she had to admit, at least to herself, that Rudyard ahd picked a respectable suit for the deceased and dressed him fastidiously. There was still the matter of his tie. 

And, of course, the body of Mrs. Whitson laid awkwardly on her sofa. 

“How has the business been?” she asked.

“Busy as ever,” Rudyard said.

“That bad?”

“We _do_ have two current bookings.”

“Point taken.” Antigone pursed her lips. “I’m sure that’s Chapman’s doing.”

“We didn’t advertise that he was doing the embalming,” Rudyard said. “We agreed it might be a distraction from why he was doing them in the first place.”

“To woo you, no doubt,” Antigone said irascibly. 

“No,” said Rudyard. “For you and Henry. If there’s anyone I know who deserves a vacation, it’s you. And Dr. Edgeware, I suppose.”

“What is wrong with you?” Antigone asked. “Where was all of this yesterday? Did Chapman tell you to apologize?”

“No,” Rudyard said. “It was Georgie.”

“Christ…”

“And,” Rudyard said, “I’ve been thinking…”

“I wish you’d been thinking before you told me I was unmarriageable in front of my fiancé.” 

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, “I’ve been _thinking_ and it isn’t that you’re unmarriageable. I’m sure Henry is a very lucky man and all that-”

Antigone pushed away from the embalming table to search for Mr. Hood’s tie. She rummaged through a box of spare bits of clothing. 

“- because the rest of us are so lucky to have you,” said Rudyard. Antigone stopped rummaging and looked at him softly. “There are just so many things to consider with a marriage. I’m sure you recall our _parents_ ’ marriage…”

“Henry and I aren’t like them,” Antigone said. 

“I just never want you to feel that kind of disappointment-”

“I won’t.”

“And then there’s the mountains of planning to be done…” Rudyard continued. 

“If you hadn’t been so bloody awful about it,” Antigone said, “I might have asked for your help with the planning.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’m obviously not going to ask now,” said Antigone. She returned to rummaging through her box of cast-offs. “You couldn’t even be happy for me when I told you.”

“I was overwhelmed!” Rudyard joined her to dig through the cast-off box. “I expected that Henry would ask, that your family would be a part of it-”

“I was going to _make_ you a part of it,” Antigone snapped. She grabbed a garish, yellow tie from the bin and crossed to the corpse. “I still might. If I forgive you. It isn’t as though we’re getting married in the next two weeks.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t plan a wedding in two weeks, Rudyard! It takes careful thought and attention to detail.”

“Hmm.” Rudyard pursed his lips. “You know, the bride’s family traditionally pays for the wedding…”

“Can we afford that?” Antigone asked. 

Rudyard made a noncommittal noise that did not exactly inspire confidence in Antigone. 

“Let me help, at least,” he said. “It’s the least I can do after yesterday.”

“You could apologize.”

“Can’t erase the past,” he said. “We just have to keep moving forward…”

Antigone tied Mr. Hood’s tie a little too tightly. Her jaw clenched. Despite everything, she still just wanted Rudyard to walk her down the aisle. It was an easy enough thing, something he could hardly cock up, and something that would mean a lot. She’d never wanted her father to give her away: in her mind’s eye it had always been Rudyard. Could she tell him that?

“Are you at least a little happy for me?” she asked.

“I’m happy that you’re happy,” said Rudyard. “Which is happier than I’ve been about most anything in my adult life.”

Sighing, Antigone nodded. This was the closest she would get to an apology from her brother right now. She wanted to wring one out of him. She wanted to cower him into profuse apologies and deep regret. She wanted to move him to ecstatic joy at her happiness. But if he wanted to help with planning, she would simply have to accept Rudyard’s love language.

“Fine,” she said. “You can help plan the wedding, but Henry and I get final say.”

“You won’t regret it,” Rudyard said. “I want to give you the best wedding this town has ever seen. It will make the Mayor and the Reverend’s celebration look like a backyard barbeque... “ 

“Don’t go overboard,” Antigone said, finishing the knot around Mr. Hood’s neck. “Just help me get him into his coffin so I can start the next one.”

Tense though things were, Antigone was sure her work had gone back to normal. Henry, just across the square, soon would not be able to say the same when Eric Chapman tracked him down, but for now, Antigone was sure she had reached some kind of equilibrium with her brother and that was all that would matter until Mr. Hood’s funeral that afternoon. She did notice, however, that when she and Rudyard heaved Mr. Hood’s body upstairs to his waiting coffin, Eric Chapman was nowhere in sight and Georgie was late to her shift and Rudyard seemed unusually unfazed by this development. She’d solve that mystery another day. For now, she could only stare at the dead man’s body in the coffin quietly with Rudyard at her side. 

“You know,” he said, voice soft as Georgie crossed through the room. “I always dreamt of interrogating the man who wanted to marry you.”

“Really?” Antigone asked.

“Yes. I always liked the idea of giving him a hard time, since we both know Father would have just been glad at the prospect of you continuing the family line…”

“That’s all a daughter was good for in his eyes,” Antigone said tightly. 

“Yes, and you are worth more than that. When I asked if you were....”

“Pregnant?” 

“... in the family way, I heard it almost immediately after I asked. I sounded like him.”

“You do sometimes, yes.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that was the only reason someone would marry you,” Rudyard said. “You’re macabre and critical and you have many, many health problems-”

“Rudyard…”

“But you’re my sister and I couldn’t ask for a better one,” Rudyard said. “And though I told Henry that if he hurts you he’d have to answer to Georgie… He’d have to answer to me, too.”

“He won’t hurt me,” Antigone said.

“I know,” said Rudyard. “That’s the hardest part. I think you’ve found someone who loves you better than I do and…”

His voice cut off abruptly.

“The family will be here soon to pay their respects,” he said. “We should get ready for the funeral.”

And that was the best “I’m sorry” Antigone could have asked for from her brother. 

It was such a pity he didn’t know that and was still secretly eager for his date with Chapman to begin ironing out the details of Antigone and Henry’s wedding. He couldn’t wait to tell Chapman that they were going to manage to pull off the entire wedding in two weeks. He couldn’t wait to surprise Antigone with it all. Grand visions of cakes and dresses and Piffling’s best venues filled his mind as he set off to prepare for Mr. Hood’s funeral. 

Yes, Antigone believed that she and Rudyard had reached and understanding.

So did Rudyard.

But whether it was the same understanding was an entirely different story. 


	3. A Hospital Divided

Eric sprinted across the square as soon as Rudyard and Antigone went into the mortuary, the taste of over-salted eggs still puckering his tongue. He absolutely had to find Henry before Mayor Desmond did or someone on the new hospital staff decided to tell him about the petition they’d taken up in Henry’s absence. As Eric waited for the lift doors to open, the sound of footfalls behind him made him jump. Spinning around, he found himself face to face with Henry Edgeware. Eric relaxed. 

“Henry…”

“Good morning, Eric,” Henry said. “I’ve just come from St. Spratt’s. None of the other doctors are there yet.”

“It’s early hours still,” Eric said, glancing around. 

“A medical emergency can happen at any hour of the day or night,” Henry said. “I didn’t want to have to scold everyone on my first day back, but if they aren’t attending to both hospitals, Chapman Community could easily reach capacity-”

“About that-”

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am sorry, Eric,” he said. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that your premises were inadequate. They’re lovely. Such cutting-edge technology and happy colors…”

“Right,” said Eric, looking around. “Henry, we need to talk.”

Henry sighed. 

“Is this about yesterday?” he asked. “Antigone and I both know neither you nor Georgie can control what Rudyard says or does.”

“Right,” said Chapman. “No. It’s about-”

The doors to the lift dinged open and Mayor Desmond stepped out. 

“Eric!” he boomed. “There you are! I went upstairs and everyone told me you’d be along shortly. It’s a good thing I’ve caught you before Doctor Edgeware returns from his vacation-”

“Hello, Mayor Desmond,” Henry said, voice flat.

Mayor Desmond startled.

“Doctor Edgeware!” he said. His mustache twitched. Henry imagined that Mayor Desmond Desmond wasn't smiling at him. “Back so soon?”

“It was a vacation, not a sabbatical,” Henry said. 

“I see, yes,” Mayor Desmond said. “And how was France?”

“French,” said Henry. “Why did you want to catch Eric before I returned from my vacation?”

“Why don’t we all go up to the cafe and talk?” Chapman said. “Over a nice cup of coffee? The cafe shouldn’t be too crowded just yet-”

“Yes, wonderful idea!” Mayor Desmond said. “Clever man, Eric, my boy…”

Henry said nothing but shuffled into the lift with his friend and the mayor and rode up to the cafe level of Chapman’s. The smell of coffee jolted his nerves painfully. He’d had coffee in Paris, but something about the familiarity of Chapman’s made him nauseous… or perhaps it was the way Eric kept looking between him and Mayor Desmond as if he knew something that Henry didn’t. He’d only been gone for ten days. How much could change in ten days? Color drained from Henry’s cheeks. He could feel it. They’d become a  _ town _ overnight. Anything could have happened. Maybe they were no longer a town and maybe NHS had recalled all the other doctors. Come to think of it, Eric had been waiting at Funn Funerals for something. Had that something been  _ Henry _ , rather than a dramatic romantic gesture for Rudyard? 

“Oh, God,” Henry breathed as they all slid into a booth - the mayor and Eric on one side, Henry on the other, facing off. “I never should have left Piffling Vale.”

“No, no, no!” Mayor Demsond said. “You deserve a vacation as much as anyone.”

“More than anyone,” Eric amended. “You’ve maintained two hospitals for this town all by yourself and I’m sure Antigone appreciated you being well-rested enough to sweep her off her feet-”

“Then why do I feel as if I’m being shipped to the glue factory?” Henry asked, tone clipped. “Eric, you had something to tell me and you’d better tell me now, before the coffee arrives - because with the rest I’ve had and enough caffeine, I could fight the gods and win.”

“No one is asking you to fight, Henry,” Eric said, raising his hands. “And no one is shipping you off to the glue factory-”

“We don’t even have a glue factory,” Mayor Desmond said. “Do you think we should?”

“I wanted to tell you before you met with the mayor,” Eric continued after a tiny pause. “But I didn’t want to ruin your happiness yesterday-”

“Oh, gosh,” said the mayor, “are we ruining something?”

“You couldn’t ruin my engagement if you tried,” Henry said. “And, believe me, Eric’s already tried.”

“You  _ just said _ that what Rudyard did wasn’t my fault!”

“What did he do now?” Mayor Desmond asked, looking at Chapman. 

“Oh, you know…” Eric said vaguely

“Gentlemen,” Henry said, rubbing his temples. “I am a medical professional and I can tell you right now: ripping off the band-aid quickly is far less painful than whatever it is you’re doing now. Either tell me what you’ve brought me here to tell me or I am going to go and admonish my staff for not being present in both hospitals-”

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Eric said. “The staff put a petition in to consolidate the hospitals.”

“Consolidate?”

“Piffling Vale may very well be a town,” Mayor Desmond said, “but it’s hard to justify a second hospital, apparently, when that second hospital is St. Spratt’s.”

“St. Spratt’s was here first,” Henry said. “Chapman Community is the second hospital.”

“Yes, well, your doctors think… Oh… how did they put this… Miss Crusoe explained it so well…”

“St. Spratt’s needs to be closed due to unsafe working conditions,” said Eric. “And Chapman Community has better technology and the mayor is going to sign off on expansions-”

“Already have,” Desmond said, pulling a building permit from his jacket pocket. 

“Oh, cheers, Des-”

“You’re telling me,” Henry said, voice tight, “that after three years, now that we finally have a reasonable number of doctors, you want to  _ consolidate _ the two hospitals I have worked tirelessly to keep open into  _ one _ facility.”

“You’ll still be chief of staff,” Eric said as if that made all the difference. 

Henry’s fists clenched on the table. 

“You were the one who suggested we get two hospitals,” he hissed. 

“Technically, that was Rudyard,” said the Mayor. “Eric just made it sound like a good idea.”

“And what are you proposing to do with my first hospital?” Henry asked. “Anything? Or are you just going to let it rot?”

“No, don’t be absurd, doctor,” said Mayor Desmond in that voice of his that strove to be soothing but just made Henry feel crazy. “We’re going to tear it down.”   
  
“WHAT?!”

The calm and dignity Henry had shown flew out the window as he jumped to his feet with an enraged, indignant squawk. He launched across the table and seized Mayor Desmond by the lapels.

“After my fiancee and I made your vision for Piffling Vale come true, you repay me by tearing down my life’s work?”

“Henry!” Eric shouted.

Henry let go of the mayor, a little reluctantly, realizing that the growing crowd in Chapman’s was now staring at him. He looked at Eric bitterly. 

“And you knew. Georgie knew. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Rudyard knew. And none of you told me,” Henry said. “To think I was going to ask you to be my best man…”

“Best man?” Mayor Desmond asked, straightening his jacket. “Are we finally going to meet your infamous Esther, then?”

“Unbelievable,” said Henry. He stepped out of the booth. “If you two will excuse me, I have  _ a _ hospital to run, apparently.”

Work was miserable. Henry was greeted by his staff, whose names he still didn’t know, and he spent most of the morning dealing with the remaining obstetrics cases from when the mayor had urged Piffling’s couples to do their part to make Piffling Vale a town. What time Henry spent not conducting sonograms with as little enthusiasm as possible, he spent staring across the square at Funn Funerals or further down the road at St. Spratt’s in her Neo-Gothic glory. Against the gray sky, St. Spratt’s looked like an asylum ripped from the pages of a horror novel, the kind of place Renfield might go mad or Nurse Ratched might inter patients as prisoners. He’d always thought it was a beautiful building but now that he knew that St. Spratt’s would be closing its doors forever and then be torn apart and the pieces discarded into the ocean waves, he tried to see it as the rest of the town must have seen it. His heart hurt at the very thought that if they ever thought of St. Spratt’s as cinematographic, they only thought of the horror, not the beauty. There had been a time it was on the cutting edge of technology… surely, there must have been such a time. Henry hadn’t been a doctor then - it’d probably been long before he was born - but sanitariums had once been all the rage. 

He didn’t know what to do with all of this sadness and all of this energy. He usually associated sadness with lethargy. To be fair, he usually associated all feelings with lethargy. 

Eventually, the lethargy came for him and Henry felt immense relief at its familiarity. He welcomed it during his lunch break after being told he was being “overly hasty” in surgery by at least three other doctors. He sat at his desk with a lunch, a _real_ lunch, he had packed himself from last night’s leftovers. He noticed with some ironic delight that someone had put a microwave in his office, optimistic that he might begin to eat lunches. He smiled at it and rose to see if he still knew how to work one. A knock at the door scarcely broke his concentration.

“Come in,” he said. 

He expected to see one of the other doctors or a nurse. Instead, Eric Chapman entered the room, looking suitably ashamed of himself as he slunk into Henry’s office.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” Eric said. “I had meant to tell you yesterday.”

Henry sighed deeply.

“I know,” he said.

“I didn’t want to ruin your good mood,” Eric continued.

“Yes, I know,” said Henry. “But that ship has sailed and I’d  _ like _ to be in a good mood by the next time I see my fiancee, so... Have a seat, Eric.”

Henry gestured to the chair opposite his. It was a nice chair: cushioned, unlike the one at St. Spratt’s. Eric sank into it with a soft, comfortable “Ahh”. 

“How long do I have to fight this legislation?” Henry asked. “I know if I ask Mayor Desmond he won’t know.”

“I, um, gosh…”

“Eric… If you don’t answer me, so help me God, I  _ will _ ask Georgie Crusoe instead...”

“The wrecking team comes on Friday,” Eric said quickly. “Graham says they’ll begin work right away and that it shouldn’t take long at all, which is a real shame. If it wasn’t a hospital so badly in need of updating, it’d be a really beautiful building...”

“Do you know if the patients have all been moved to Chapman Community at least?” 

“Some of them don’t want to come,” said Eric.

“They want St. Spratt’s to stay open?” Hope trickled into Henry’s voice.

“Ah… no,” said Eric. “Not exactly. But it seems no one has been able to move your psychiatric ward to Chapman Community without losing a few fingers…”

Henry arrived at St. Spratt’s, Eric Chapman in tow, to find Agatha Doyle and three of the doctors whose names he did not know standing outside St. Spratt’s. Agatha Doyle had a megaphone. 

“Miss Smith!” the confectioner-turned-constable shouted. “Be reasonable! They are bringing the wrecking ball on Friday-”

“And they’ll have to take me with it!” Marjorie protested. She’d been undergoing intense psychiatric care since she’d murdered well over a dozen people, plus two seagulls, in two months. “Then they’ll be sorry… they’ll all be sorry!”

“We’re already sorry we didn’t lock you up in the Piffling Prison,” Agatha Doyle snapped. “We’ve been having this argument for two days and Doctor Edgeware-”

“-would like the megaphone,” Henry said to Agatha, outstretching his hand. 

“Gosh!” said Agatha lowering, but not handing over, the megaphone. “We expected you to take another full week with Miss Funn, touring the countryside!”

“I can tell,” said Henry.

“You can’t have gotten bored with each other already!”

“We haven’t,” Henry said. Agatha laughed too-knowingly for his comfort, the way anyone in Piffling Vale, modern day Gomorrah, might. “How many patients are still in St. Spratt’s?”

“Just Miss Smith,” said Agatha. “She tries to bite off anyone’s fingers who goes in after her.”

“Yes, she’ll do that,” Henry said, flexing the pinky he’d had to reattach himself last year. It was still a little crooked, though the only one who’d noticed was Antigone. “I’ll take that megaphone now and save you the trouble.”

Hesitantly, Agatha handed Henry the megaphone. He drew a deep breath and raised it to his lips. 

“Marjorie!” he called into it. 

“Hello, Doctor,” she called down. Even from the ground, looking up into the window Marjorie had chosen to negotiate from, Henry could see her eyes gleaming. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me on your little excursion…”

“How I wish I could,” said Henry. Truthfully, he had very nearly forgotten St. Spratt’s permanent resident, much the way one forgets a houseplant while on vacation. He’d rung Chapman Community to ask for someone to check in on her while Antigone was having a long bath in the hotel and Henry had been instructed only to join her for the dirtiest of cleans. He’d taken the opportunity of alone time to make a hurried phone call and then quickly blotted Marjorie Smith from his memory. Now that he was yelling up at her through a megaphone, though, Henry remembered how dangerous Marjorie could be and how irritated he was with her at any given moment. “One thing I haven’t forgotten is that your compulsion for attention-seeking drives you to extremes and I want you to do exactly as I say this instant.”

“Maybe,” Marjorie drew the two syllables out for a long time. “That depends entirely on what it is.”

“I want you to stay put. I’ll escort you to your new residence as soon as I sort that business out.”

"Doctor Edgeware!” Agatha gasped. “They have plans to tear down this building!”

“Yes, I know,” said Henry. “And, Eric, correct me if I’m wrong, but Graham wouldn’t tear down a building with a living person inside of it.”

“That’d be horrific,” said Eric. “No. He wouldn’t.”

“Well, then my work here is done. Everyone else can go home,” said Henry. He handed the megaphone back to Agatha Doyle. “Now I have to figure out how to transfer other long-term patients back to St. Spratt’s until construction is done at Chapman’s. Or is it considered ‘safe’ to leave all of my patients in a building that’s under construction?”

“I- oh. Blimey.” Eric blinked. “That still won’t take more than a few days…”

“I’m familiar with the pace at which you work, Eric,” said Henry. “And I’m willing to bet I can get a plan in motion even faster than your construction crew. I have something they don’t.”

“Oh?”

“I believe you’ve met my fiancee,” Henry said, smiling. “Brilliant woman, got us twenty-seven NHS doctors last time she proposed something to the village council. I’m sure between the two of us, we can justify the need for a second hospital. Can you call a meeting for tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely,” said Eric. “But Henry, are you sure you want to worry about plans for St. Spratt’s? You have a wedding to plan.”

“Antigone and I haven’t set the date for the wedding,” said Henry. “We have plenty of time.” 

After orchestrating a grumbling move down the road to St. Spratt’s and delivering a speech that surely made Henry the least popular chief of staff in Piffling’s medical history, he walked across the square to Funn Funerals. He bypassed the empty lobby to knock on the mortuary door. 

“Don’t come in, Rudyard!” Antigone shouted. 

“Not Rudyard.” Henry leaned against the doorframe, smiling. 

“Henry!”

Antigone’s muffled footsteps rushed up the stairs as she opened the door and ushered Henry inside with a quick kiss. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the darkness of the mortuary, but he knew where everything was. He went to sit on the couch. 

“Not there!” Antigone yelled. “It’s drying!”

“Drying?” Henry asked.

“Of course. I had to shampoo it after my menace of a brother and Chapman stored a corpse there.”

“I thought they were professionals…?”

“So did I,” Antigone returned to the embalming table where she was working on a woman’s body. Henry couldn’t recognize the woman in the darkness but was sure that he could have in daylight. “Are you on your lunch break?”

“In a way,” said Henry. 

“In a- Oh.” Antigone’s breath caught in her throat girlishly. “Let me just wash my hands and find a sanitary surface-”

“Hmm? Oh! No. I mean, if you want- But that’s not why-”

“Of course not,” Antigone murmured. “You wouldn’t play hooky to- shut up-!”

“Well, not  _ today _ ,” said Henry earnestly. He was sure Antigone could see his ears redden in the dark. He cradled her jaw in his hand and kissed her, apologetically, enthusiastically. Smiling when it broke, he said, "I’ll take a rain check.”

“Maybe I’ll find  _ you _ at work…" Antigone murmured. "If I can narrow down which hospital you’ll be at...”

“That shouldn’t be hard-”

“Well, the odds  _ are _ fifty-fifty-”

“- because we’re only going to have one hospital soon.”

Antigone stared at Henry. He could feel her eyes on him and see her tilt her head in the dim glow of the embalming machine. 

“What?” she asked softly. 

“The mayor and Eric cornered me this morning on my way to Chapman Community Hospital,” said Henry. He recounted the events of the day. Then, with a sigh, he said, “We only have as long as I can convince a sociopathic narcissist to stay in St. Spratt’s to figure out how to make it a functional hospital.”

“Oh, Henry,” Antigone said. She reached up to touch his cheek. “You worked so hard to juggle two hospitals…”

“I always secretly hoped one of them would catch on fire,” said Henry, heaving a heavy sigh. “But now… What would you do if someone asked you to give up Funn Funerals?”

“That depends,” said Antigone. “Do I get to give up Rudyard, too?”

“How did _that_ go? Did he apologize?”

Antigone recounted her day, most especially Rudyard’s apology. She sounded very glad that he and Georgie were out at a funeral right now and wouldn’t interrupt this conversation.

“I told him I’d let him help plan the wedding,” she said. “Scheduling is practically the only thing he’s good at.”

“Did you tell him you wanted him to give you away?” asked Henry. 

“And boost his ego?” Antigone snorted. “I’d rather put him in charge of catering and seating charts than let him think he’s the family patriarch.”

“Do you mean that?”

Antigone shrugged. She leaned her forehead against Henry’s shoulder. 

“It’s a shame that they’re going to shut St. Spratt’s down,” she said into his chest. “It’s such a beautiful structure. Neo-Gothic, am I right?”

Henry nodded.

“It’s one of the oldest structures on Piffling,” he said. “After  _ town _ hall and Funn Funerals, of course. The funny thing is… I don’t know if I’m more upset about the structure being torn down or the fact that when  _ I _ asked, it was always, ‘ _ Well, Doctor Edgeware, a real town has two hospitals! Who cares how many doctors we have? _ ’ Why did we ever leave France? They have autumns in France. We could have gotten married there.”

Antigone looked up.

“So you’re not  _ un _ happy with there being only one hospital?”

“Not in the slightest,” Henry said. “It will make less work for me in the long run… more time for us.”

“But you  _ are _ unhappy about the building being torn down?”

“Yes.”

“And you’d like to stick it to the mayor?”

“I wouldn’t  _ say _ that-”

“It’s just you, me, and the body of Mrs. Whitson down here.”

“Then, yes, absolutely,” Henry said. 

“Then we have to come up with a new use for St. Spratt’s, keep the building and your pride intact.”

“What good is St. Spratt’s as anything but a hospital?” Henry asked. He thought of its sprawling corridors and dramatic architecture, unlike almost anything in Piffling Vale. 

“A historical site?” Antigone suggested. She scrunched her face up. “I sound like Rudyard.”

“A hotel?” asked Henry. “It already has beds…”

“No, we have to be more visionary than that,” Antigone said. “What about a  _ museum _ ?”

They’d seen a dozen museums in Paris - art museums, mostly. The galleries stretched and winded. On the walls, paintings captivated Antigone and Henry was captivated by her captivation. He smiled against her hair now, as he had many times in Paris. He kissed the crown of her head. 

“Piffling doesn’t have a museum,” he said quietly. “And I’ll bet a museum would make for a beautiful wedding venue.”

“Then it’s settled. I’m going to write a proposal to present to Mayor Desmond at the village council meeting. This is exactly the sort of project my brother and Chapman need to keep them out of our way while we plan our wedding.”

“I told Eric you were brilliant,” Henry said. “How many more of our problems can we solve before someone notices I’m gone?”

His pager sounded. He looked down at it with a grimace and a sigh. 

“Never mind. They’ve noticed I’m gone.” 

Antigone kissed him goodbye and as Henry walked back to Chapman Community Hospital to oversee the move back to St. Spratt’s for the remainder of the week, he felt hope - real hope - the likes of which he hadn’t felt since Antigone convinced Piffling Vale to conduct a census. With her, anything and everything was possible. 


	4. The Best Laid Plans

Henry returned to the hospital to find a waiting room of slightly singed funeral goers, none more badly burnt that a piece of overdone toast. Among them sat Georgie Crusoe - unharmed - and Rudyard Funn in a ruined suit. Georgie, it seemed, had been great at launching a flaming arrow at Mr. Hood’s coffin and Rudyard, it seemed, had been great at knocking over the fire source. Fortunately, the reverend had already been present and was quick to fetch a bucket of sand. Perplexed doctors tried to say that this, surely, was an anomaly, but Henry couldn’t grant them that assurance. God, what was he going to do if Rudyard was in charge of the museum project? Or worse - something key at the wedding? 

“Where have you been?” one of the doctors - Henry thought her name might be Peters - snapped at him. 

“There are twenty-seven of you,” Henry said primly. “Surely you can handle a few burn victims without your chief of staff breathing down your necks-”

“There are forty-three people in our waiting room!”

“Yes, I see that,” said Henry. “When did this happen?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“And there are still forty-three people in the waiting room?” Henry asked. He sighed heavily. “In my day, the damage from a Funn Funeral only took ten minutes to deal with…”

“Are they always like this?” Doctor Peters asked. “All of the funerals on Pifffling?”

“No, only about half,” said Henry. 

“Chapman’s lays on a good funeral,” said another doctor, one whose name Henry didn’t know for certain. “I went to one of his services last week. There was a brunch.”

“But did it serve alcohol?” Rudyard Funn, eavesdropping from his curled up position in a waiting room chair, asked. 

“That was the best part,” said the doctor. 

“Well, if that was the best part, it must not have been a very good brunch,” said Rudyard. “I’ll be sure he gets the memo.”

“I’ll take Mr. Funn,” said Henry. Then, glaring at Rudyard, he added a sharp, _“Now_ .” 

Rudyard followed after him and into an examination room, straight-backed, eyes not once touching Henry. Were they still fighting? Had they ever been? Who could say. Henry’s shoulders slumped while Rudyard’s back was turned. This was the family he was marrying into. He’d made this choice. He wouldn’t trade Antigone for the world, but, good God, he would trade Rudyard for a nasty paper cut any day. Sometimes he thought Antigone would, too. Then he remembered: despite everything, Rudyard was the one Antigone wanted to _give her away_. Even at his worst, he wasn’t irredeemable, only irritating. 

Because they’d only just moved everything over from Chapman Community Hospital an hour ago, Henry had to dig through poorly labeled boxes for gauze and roller bandages. He came across bits of old newspaper, a roll of duct tape, and an unopened box-cutter before finding anything of use. As he searched for a usable first aid kit, he spoke to Rudyard.

“I don’t understand how you and Antigone share any DNA,” he groused. “You are an utter disaster. How would you feel if I had had to call her from the morgue to come pick you up?”

“Agitated that you didn’t think I could walk home alone,” said Rudyard. “I’m perfectly capable of hauling a client back to Funn Funerals without my sister’s help.”

“I meant if you were dead.”

“Then I don’t suppose I’d feel much about it one way or the other,” said Rudyard. “But right now my arm really hurts and my jacket is ruined-”

Henry sighed. 

“There are forty-three patients in my waiting room because of your funeral,” he said quietly, voice menacing and aching all at once. 

“You could usually get that cleared up in ten minutes,” said Rudyard. “A little gauze here, some medical tape there-”

“Yes, I know that,” Henry said. “But the standard of care has got to improve, doesn’t it? Now that there are twenty-eight of us.... It’s not good enough to just stick a bandaid on someone and tell them if they still felt like rubbish in the morning, to do a shot of whiskey before they even think about calling me back. Attention to detail matters.”

Henry looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. His brain spun. If he hadn’t been running on a full eight hours of rest, his knees might have buckled and given out just now. This room and the dozens just like it weren’t medically safe.

“God,” he breathed. “I was a disaster… _this hospital_ is a disaster… I don’t know why I told Antigone I wanted to save it. I should just be focused on the wedding…. God. The _wedding_.”

He took a deep breath and cleaned Rudyard’s burned arm to the sound of protestation before Rudyard could tell him to snap out of it. Then, finally -

“Have you begun to plan the wedding?” Rudyard asked.

“We haven’t even set a date,” said Henry. “We haven’t planned much of anything yet.”

“Good,” Rudyard said. 

“Good?” Henry wrapped the roller bandage around Rudyard’s burn wound and some fresh gauze. “Is this more nonsense about whether or not you _approve_?”

“Oh, no,” said Rudyard airIly. “That was yesterday. Today is a new day. I’m more concerned with what you’re envisioning for the wedding.”

Henry gave Rudyard a dubious look.

“We barely even know what we want-” said Henry. 

“Even better,” said Rudyard. “That makes my job easier.”

“Did you get hit on the head by anything at that funeral?” Henry asked. “Your job-”

“Antigone wants me to plan the wedding,” Rudyard said. “She told me herself this morning.”

“ _One thing,_ ” Henry said. “We agreed you could plan _one thing_.”

“I don’t know what she’s told you, but she’s my sister-”

“She’s _my wife-_ ”

“Not yet, she isn’t and as long as she lives under _my_ roof-”

“She doesn’t live under _your_ roof anymore, Rudyard!”

“Just you wait! She’ll be back!”

Henry rolled his eyes. He took a breath. He tried to count to ten. He got to three and rounded up. 

“Well, yes, of course she’ll be back!” Would anyone notice if he wrote himself a prescription for codeine-laced acetaminophen and called it a day? “She _works_ there!”

Rudyard’s scowl deepened. 

“You know,” he said, “I have no objection to your engagement-”

“Could have fooled me,” Henry muttered, low and angry. Perhaps they were still fighting, after all.

“But you really are doing things most improperly, having the bride move in before the wedding… not asking her family…”

“If Antigone objects, then by all means we’ll ‘do things properly’, but I think it’s better for us to do things at our own pace-”

“Your own pace moves like a horse put on the tracks without a jockey,” Rudyard said. “You need someone to help you stay focused, on task and- Stop wrapping my bandage that tight! Ow! I’m only trying to help!”

The door creaked open and Doctor Peters peered in. 

“Maybe it’s best if someone who _isn’t_ family takes a look at Mr. Funn,” she suggested. “Petunia Bloom is asking for you by name…”

“A merciful god would strike me down now,” Henry said, dropping the roller bandage so that it dangled from Rudyard’s arm. Henry turned his gaze heavenward, half-hopefully. When no immediate clap of thunder and burst of lightning took his life, he glowered at Rudyard, “This isn’t over.”

He had no idea how far from “over” things were. While Henry and Antigone passed his typewriter back and forth over the dinner table that night, waxing poetic about the wonders an art museum would do for Piffling Vale’s currently nonexistent cultural scene, Rudyard launched a brainstorming session of his own with Chapman at the member’s club. Chapman watched as Rudyard viciously bit into a bit of roast potato as he read Chapman’s edits. 

“Outrageous,” said Rudyard before getting to the fifth page of edits. “Chapman, you are aware that the bride’s family traditionally pays for all of this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Is this some sort of scheme to bankrupt me?” Rudyard asked. “There’s no way I can afford even a fraction of these wedding expenses. I don’t even think all of these are customary for a wedding. Gift bags, Chapman? I mean, _really…_?”

“People will want something to remember the occasion by!” said Chapman.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Rudyard said. “Let the trauma of the event be the only souvenir you take with you…”

“Why do you think it will be traumatic?” Chapman asked. “Weddings are happy occasions.”

“Have you ever seen Antigone happy?” Rudyard asked. 

“Well…” Chapman tried to think. 

“The correct answer is ‘no’,” said Rudyard. “You have not.”

“Henry makes her happy,” Chapman argued.

Rudyard frowned. He didn’t know how or why _Henry Edgeware_ made his sister happy. He seemed about three steps away from murdering Rudyard at any moment. So much for family loyalty. At least if she was going to be in love with Henry Edgeware, Antigone could reassure Rudyard that she wasn’t _abandoning_ him. He’d always thought that if he was destined to lead a lonely, loveless life, so, too, would his sister - at least as a show of solidarity. There was Chapman, though, of course. And that was a terrifying thought: a forever spent in someone’s company. Rudyard hadn’t considered it before. He hadn’t had a reason to. Neither had Antigone until very recently. Damn Henry Edgeware for upsetting the already precarious status quo! And damn Chapman, too, while they were at it! Rudyard pinched the bridge of his nose. 

_This isn’t about Chapman. This isn’t about you. This is about Antigone and Henry and-_

“Yes, well, he’s coming to the wedding free of charge, whether he wants to or not.”

“He proposed, I think he wants to,” Chapman said. 

“And for another thing, the amount of money you’re willing to spend on a cake is truly unforgivable,” Rudyard said, as if he hadn’t heard his boyfriend at all. “Can you really justify eight hundred pounds for a cake, Chapman?”

“It’s less of a cake and more of a ‘dessert sculpture’,” said Chapman. “They’re all the rage in _Blushing Brides Magazine_.”

“Are you _subscribed_ to a wedding magazine?” Rudyard asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m an occasional guest columnist. Since 2013.”

“Can you _eat_ a dessert sculpture, Mr. Occasional Guest Columnist?” Rudyard asked. 

“Well… technically, yes....” Chapman said. “It is sugar.”

“ _Technically_? Unbelievable. You want to pay eight hundred pounds for a cake that you can’t even eat-”

“Your idea was to have Georgie make a box mix!” Chapman said. 

“She’s great at following recipes,” Rudyard said. “Why did you have to drive the village’s only baker to murder-suicide-”

“You bought the supplies for the bomb!” Chapman almost yelled. 

People in the restaurant looked over at them. To be fair, many of them still were not used to seeing Rudyard and Chapman together in public. Rudyard deflated a little - not under their gazes, but under Chapman’s. If he had known Jerry was going to build a bomb… His eyes stung. He’d almost gotten Chapman _and_ Antigone killed that day and he didn’t like to think about his role in all. He must have looked as fit to cry as he felt because Chapman’s gaze softened - all apology and contrition. Rudyard liked that look on him and he hated that he liked any look at all on his ex-rival-now-boyfriend. 

“What more do you want, Chapman?” Rudyard asked quietly. “I have had a very tiring day-”

“Did the Hood funeral go well?” Chapman’s voice leveled out, evenly - an unspoken apology. 

“No, it didn’t,” said Rudyard, shoulders sagging. “My jacket caught fire and forty-three people ended up in the hospital! Including me. And then Henry and I had a disagreement...”

“Oh, Rudyard…”

“Don’t patronize me,” said Rudyard. “It won’t help.”

“Can I at least hold your hand?” Chapman asked. “I’ll even meet you halfway on the cake.”

Rudyard accepted Chapman’s outstretched hand as if afraid it might bite him. However, the instant he touched Chapman, his body relaxed. The tense muscles loosened and he smiled, just a tiny bit.

“It’s a deal. So, halfway between a box mix recipe and an exorbitant dessert sculpture,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

"I'm thinking a traditional cake,” said Chapman. He squeezed Rudyard’s hand before Rudyard could pull away. “Hear me out: I know how you feel about the word ‘traditional’, but maybe that’s more along the lines of what they’ll want. It’s certainly more budget friendly…”

“And the gift bags?” Rudyard arched an eyebrow. Hope crept into his voice. Maybe, just maybe Chapman would make one more concession before dinner was over. 

“Don’t you want guests to enjoy themselves?” Chapman asked.

_Of course he isn’t going down without a fight._

“What guests?” Rudyard leaned into his free hand, elbow on the table. “There’ll be you, me, and Georgie. Who else would want to come? Antigone isn’t exactly popular and Henry isn’t exactly beloved…” 

“Your original plans involved inviting the entire village-”

“ _Town_ ,” Rudyard corrected. 

“- _town_ and cramming them all in the church.”

“I didn’t _bet_ on people coming,” Rudyard said. “I expected us and the reverend and Georgie. Antigone and Henry. Maybe a few hecklers - Antigone does seem rather close with the village hoodlums… And it wouldn’t be out of keeping for that ringmistress to make a dramatic objection…”

“Rudyard, did you _really_ think no one would come?” Chapman asked. “Truly?”

Rudyard slid further down in his chair, tugging Chapman’s hand as he refused to let go. 

“I know you can’t fathom this,” Rudyard said, “but my family is _deeply_ unpopular.”

“ _Rudyard…_ ”

“I mean, do you see how people look at us? Not just at me and Antigone. At you and me?” he asked. “The whole bloody town wants you with someone _else_. Someone… Oh, I don’t know. Someone like Lady Templar.”

Chapman stiffened at the mention of his infamous ex. If the rest of the town hadn’t quite gotten used to Rudyard and Chapman being together, Lady Vivienne Templar certainly hadn’t _accepted_ it, even grudgingly. He wondered if she was here, watching this moment and if she was, if that would only redouble her efforts to get him alone and away from Rudyard. How much would she, would any of them, really, hate to hear that Rudyard and Chapman were planning a wedding, even if it was someone else’s? What would they have done if it _had_ been Chapman and Rudyard’s wedding? Chapman was sure there’d be objections then, not just a dramatic farewell speech given by a heartbroken ringmistress. He was sure that if Rudyard invited the whole town, they’d all come and hope for a spectacle that went up in flames. It wasn’t _fair_. Not that it mattered. Rudyard had already been very clear on his opinions of weddings. 

“Meanwhile, those same people wanted to leave me in a _well_ a few months ago,” Rudyard continued bitterly. “So, no, I don’t think people will want to come.”

“You’re forgetting an important detail,” said Chapman.

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s not _our_ wedding,” said Chapman. 

“No, of course it isn’t,” said Rudyard quickly. “It’s Antigone’s and Doctor Edgeware’s.”

“Maybe your unpopularity won’t matter,” Chapman said. “Maybe the whole town _will_ turn out to support Antigone and Henry.”

“They deserve it,” Rudyard mumbled. 

_Antigone deserves it,_ he meant. 

“And they’ll have it,” Chapman said. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we’ll plan the best wedding this island has ever seen.”

A smile quivered onto Rudyard’s lips. He sat up straight, spirits renewed. 

“That brings me to the scheduling,” he said. “You’ve moved the wedding from morning to late afternoon and if we’re going to do that - and I’m not saying we are - it will absolutely need to be indoors on account of Antigone’s allergy to the sun.”

“Antigone’s _allergic to the sun?_ ” Chapman asked.

“Not exactly, but would it surprise anyone if she was?” Rudyard said. “She’d need several gallons of sunscreen for any kind of outdoor wedding if we did it during the daytime and somehow, I think she’ll hate looking like a peeling, boiled lobster on her wedding day…”

Antigone wasn’t thinking about her wedding day across town. She certainly wasn’t thinking about peeling, boiled lobster. Instead, she thought about peeling all the skin off her fingers from anxiety as she paced behind Henry’s chair while he read over her speech for the village - now town - council. She muttered a flurry of swear words to herself each time he hummed to himself and at one point, she determined he was humming to himself just to get a reaction from her. Now, scowling at him she tried to ignore the turning of pages and the way that Esther watched them from inside her cage. Antigone stopped pacing as Henry set the pages down.

“Well?” she asked. “What do you think? Is it terrible?”

“It certainly is… passionate,” he said. 

It sounded like he was being diplomatic - or worse, _kind_. 

“Passionate in a good way or passionate in a ‘lock her up in St. Spratt’s with Marjorie’ sort of way?”

“In a good way,” Henry assured her. “But I don’t think the village council will listen to either of us about this. They have twenty-seven doctors calling for St. Spratt’s closure and unless you can rally thirty or so townsfolk to back you by the time you present this…”

“Oh, God...”

“... you’re going to have to put this in the mouth of someone with infinitely more clout than either of us has.”

“Do you think we could ask Georgie to do it?” Antigone asked. “The mayor will listen to her.”

“The mayor only accounts for one vote…”

“However he votes, I’m sure the reverend will, too, since he can’t make up his own mind. And we _have_ Chapman. Isn’t that a majority?”

“Lady Templar is the real wild card,” Henry agreed. “I don’t think even Miss Crusoe could convince her to vote for something Eric’s in favor of these days.”

“Why do you say that?” Antigone asked. “It’s a marvelous idea and Georgie’s great at persuading people of things.”

“I’m sure she is,” said Henry. “But you may have noticed that Eric Chapman is dating your brother...”

“Are you suggesting we break them up?” Antigone asked. “When Rudyard has finally found someone who can tolerate him? I mean, I suppose we _could_. It would serve him right, but then I’d have to live with the guilt of ruining his only chance at happiness...”

“No,” Henry said, laughing a little as he took Antigone’s hand and tugged her into his lap. “I’m just saying we can’t hope for a unanimous decision. Promise me you aren’t hoping for universal approval…”

“I don’t understand _why_ not everyone would be in favor of an art museum,” Antigone said. 

Henry nuzzled her neck. Antigone’s breath hitched. Irritation mingled with lust in her eyes. He wasn’t playing fair and she knew it. Her mouth set into a forced line: she would accept the challenge and best him at it.

“There’s the cost,” he said. “The building needs repairs. I was there this afternoon - it’s in shambles.”

“So we’ll recruit volunteers,” Antigone countered.

“An art museum needs art.” 

He pressed his lips to her skin. Antigone moaned as he sucked gently and teasingly scraped his teeth just under her jawline. 

“So we’ll commission artists,” she said hazily.

Henry slipped a slow-moving hand up her skirt. 

“Again,” he whispered, “there’s the associated cost.”

“Damn you, Henry Edgeware!” Antigone pushed his hand away and Henry laughed. “You can’t _distract_ me during a debate…!”

“I’m sorry, Antigone,” Henry said, grinning, not looking nearly as sorry as he ought to. Antigone scowled at him. He reconfigured his features into a semblance of contriteness. “I thought that if you could win a debate against me while at a disadvantage, you’d surely be able to win over the entire council without me to distract you. Let’s try that again.”

“Yes, let’s,” said Antigone, twisting around in his lap so that she straddled it. “If we can’t _afford_ to commission artists, we’ll take donations.”

She rocked her hips against his. His eyes widened and she grinned wickedly at him. He sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes wide with fear and desire pleaded with her to stop and begged her to go on and do her worst. A smile curved Antigone’s lips, as at home there as any scowl. 

“Oh no,” Henry murmured.. 

“Oh _yes_ ,” Antigone said. “We’ll take any and all donations we get and then the museum’s acquisitions department will determine which pieces go where.”

“A-acquisitions department?” Henry asked hazily. Antigone’s palms pressed to his chest. “Where are we getting an acquisitions department?”

“The bus stop,” Antigone said, raking her nails down Henry’s shirt front. 

She began to toy with the buttons. Henry blinked out of his reverie.

“You lost me,” he said. “The _bus stop_?”

“Yes.”

“We have a _bus stop_?” he asked. “Why do we have a bus stop? The island is only a mile long - town or not!”

“It’s for the local hoodlums,” Antigone said. “I imagine they’re out of work, now that we’re finally a town.”

“Are you going to pay them for their labor?” Henry asked.

“I think they’ll be thrilled to be a part of the generational experience that is the ‘unpaid internship’,” Antigone said.

“And you’ll get all of this done by the time this goes before the town council?” 

“Do you think I can’t?” Antigone asked. 

She shifted her weight again and Henry knew better than to say anything stupid. 

“You can do anything you set your mind to,” he said fervently.

“That’s right,” said Antigone. “Don’t you dare forget it.”

She kissed him and behind them, sitting on the table, her plans for the museum sat forgotten for one night. By morning, she would be ready to offer them to Georgie. She’d take a real lunch break to track down the village hoodlums and Antigone Funn would be a step closer to having her museum. And once that was in place, the real work could begin: planning her wedding. Right now, that was a vague glow on the horizon. When it dawned in full, it would be the most brilliant sunrise of her life. For now, though, she’d settle for the infinite night skies she kissed Henry under. They had plenty of time, after all. 


	5. Early Wedding Presents

Antigone hoped to reach Funn Funerals before Rudyard was awake and to lie in wait for Georgie in the mortuary. She’d snag their assistant and pull her downstairs to read the pages she’d written to persuade the town council of the merit of a local art museum. By Antigone’s estimate, she wouldn’t have to be at Funn Funerals for more than two hours before she could slip out again and quest for the village hoodlums. She did not count on Rudyard being awake before dawn. If she’d known he would be awake that early and that her attempts at dodging him were moot, Antigone would have let Henry tug her back into bed for an extra hour or two this morning instead of vowing to meet up with him at St. Spratt’s at the end of the day. Cursing quietly, she froze in the doorway when she and Rudyard made eye contact. 

“I told your boyfriend you’d be back,” Rudyard said triumphantly.

“Fiancé,” Antigone corrected. She paused. “I work here, Rudyard.”

“Does he know that?” said Rudyard. 

“Yes.” Antigone rolled her eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Rudyard sipped his cup of hot water. “I’m sure you had a lavish breakfast in your love nes so you needn’t hang about the kitchen-”

“I wanted to get an early start to the day,” she said. “I have things to do.”

“Is Mrs. Whitson not embalmed yet?” Rudyard asked. “I thought you would have finished her ages ago…”

“I thought you would have gotten us more clients by now.”

An impasse. Rudyard continued to sip his hot water as Antigone moved to make herself a cup of tea. She set down her folder of plans and noticed that it sat next to a similar folder. She squinted over at Rudyard.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, nodding to her folder.

“Plans for the museum,” Antigone said. A small smile tugged her lips. Before Rudyard could ask, she said, “The art museum Henry and I want to put before the council.”

“Not wedding plans?”

“No.” Antigone swept a hand through her hair. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin with that.”

“Good,” said Rudyard. 

Antigone gaped at him, trying to muster her usual scowl as he handed her his folder.

“I may have had a few ideas,” he said. “Chapman may or may not have helped.”

“Rudyard…” Antigone’s throat was dry. She stared at the folder, dumbfounded as she flipped through it. “This is... This... is…”

Annotated magazine cutouts greeted her in her brother and Chapman’s dueling handwritings. Flower arrangements were circled. Guest lists were charted like a list of murder suspects. Several mockups of invitations dazzled up at her so brightly that her eyes hurt. She slammed the folder shut.

“This is too much,” she said. “Rudyard, I can’t even think about the wedding until the museum plans are in place.”

And when the museum plans were in place, Rudyard would no longer occupy his time with the wedding. Surely he would be far more interested in delegating tasks for a renovation project than he would be in Antigone’s impending nuptials. And while he was sufficiently distracted, she could circle flower arrangements in brochures with her own red pen and she could organize her guest list in a less hostile way, and make invitations that weren’t so nauseatingly friendly as whatever she was _sure_ Chapman had designed. At least Rudyard and Chapman hadn’t tried to outfit her in a dress. God, a _dress_ . She still couldn’t wear _white_ and black was for funerals. She’d have to think of something that she didn’t find utterly loathsome. Thank God she and Henry had put a pin in wedding plans until the museum business could occupy Rudyard. It would take a miracle for him to be distracted enough to let her have the peace of mind she needed to plan the wedding she wanted. 

“Don’t worry about the wedding,” Rudyard said. 

“I’m _not_ ,” Antigone said, half-lying. Of course she worried a little bit. Who wouldn’t? It was her wedding - the only one she’d likely ever have, the only one she _wanted_ to have. She only had one chance to get it right. But right now, it wasn’t the top priority. In order for it to become top priority, she had to tantalize her brother with a renovation and museum project and in order to do _that_ , she had to convince Georgie to read the speech at the town hall meeting. Georgie would be at least half an hour more, though, and if Rudyard needed to whet his appetite on something that didn’t taste like wedding cake… Antigone wiggled her folder closer to him. “I want you to look something over.”

“Is it for the wedding?”

“Better,” Antigone lied. “I wrote a speech for town hall about the museum.”

“And you want me to give it, naturally,” said Rudyard. “I’m flattered-”

“What?” Antigone sputtered. “No! I want Georgie to give it. I just want you to look at it.”

“Georgie?” Rudyard echoed. He hummed softly. “She isn’t the town archivist. I would think a history museum ought to be backed by the-”

“ _Art_ museum. It’s an art museum.”

“There you go. That’s really more Chapman’s wheelhouse,” Rudyard said. “I can call him…”

“No, I don’t care if Chapman sees this,” Antigone said. “I want _you_ to see it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my brother!”

“Hmm.”

“Because it _matters_.”

“ _Mhmm_.”

“Because... “ Antigone’s voice went weak as her brother looked at her like the next words out of her mouth might matter very much. “Because… Because you were in charge of cultural life in Piffling Vale for eleven years and it might need your expert opinion?”

“We both know you’re the one who understands art,” Rudyard said. He sighed. “But if you insist, I’ll take a look…”

Rudyard flipped through Antigone’s speech. Her meticulous and familiar handwriting greeted him, as did her words, poetic and passionate. If Rudyard were more meticulous or poetic or passionate, he might have appreciated it more. He did appreciate that - for whatever reason - this museum mattered to his sister. And it would keep her plenty occupied as he and Chapman sorted out the details of her wedding for her. They were on the cusp of something great with her wedding dress, after all, and he daren’t unveil it yet. He handed Antigone back her speech.

“You’ve certainly put a lot of effort into this,” he said. “How are you going to be able to hand it over to Chapman to work on?”

“I’m not giving it to Chapman!”

“Cultural affairs is his jurisdiction now,” Rudyard said. “Mine is archiving. I don’t even know if I’m technically a part of the town council; I just go to meetings because I enjoy an evening of scheduled activity and boiling Lady Templar’s blood.” 

Antigone groaned. She’d have to convince him some other way - maybe by allowing him to delegate tasks to the hoodlums. He always did love bossing other people around. She almost tipped her hand, almost spat the truth at him: that this museum project was going to be _his_ jurisdiction and that she’d rather he spend the next year budgeting for a museum and organizing wings of art than have him spend one more second belaboring under the delusion that he was going to plan _her_ wedding. 

But the door to Funn Funerals opened with a gust of wind and a cheerful Georgie blustering inside with coffees from the farmer’s market on Conveniently Deserted Street. 

“- looks like small businesses are makin’ a comeback in Piffling,” she said. There had clearly been more to her sentence, lost to the blustery weather. “Your boyfriend can pour that in his coffee and slurp it, sir!”

Rudyard and Antigone switched folders with quiet seething, the kind that Georgie had seen a million times before, but that today gave her pause. 

“Bad time?” she asked.

“Not at all,” said Antigone, voice clipped. The kettle whistled and she poured hot water over her tea bag. “Come with me, Georgina. I need you in the mortuary.”

“For what?” Rudyard asked. “You only have the one body-”

“Girl talk,” Antigone said tightly. “Georgie…”

“Ooh,” said Georgie. 

She handed one of the coffees to Rudyard and took hers with her with a quick salute at him. Then, she followed Antigone downstairs into the dark mortuary. The door closed behind them and the only light in the room seemed to come from Antigone’s machinery. Georgie eased onto the couch.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d wanna have this talk,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I knew you wouldn’t wanna talk about it in front of Rudyard.”

“I don’t want to talk about _anything_ in front of Rudyard,” said Antigone. 

“Yikes,” said Georgie. “Are things already that bad again?”

“The absolute _nerve_ of the man! The arrogance!” Antigone hissed. She set about breaking rigor mortis on Mrs. Whitson’s body. “Did you know he has an entire folder full of _wedding planning_ ideas?”

“At least he’s come around to the idea of you and Doctor Edgeware gettin’ married,” said Georgie. “Two days ago, he was tryin’ to outright ban it.”

“Not helping,” Antigone grunted. Mrs. Whitson’s leg gave a satisfying crack. “I don’t want Rudyard to plan my wedding. I want Rudyard to take the helm of the museum project.”

“What’d he say when you told him that?” Georgie asked. 

“He thought I wanted to foist the museum project onto _Chapman!_ Of all the nonsensical-”

“I mean, from a certain perspective, Chapman _would_ be the one to take over a museum project. I mean, is it a _history_ museum?”

“I- er. No. No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, see, cultural affairs are Chapman’s wheelhouse. Rudyard mostly does things like… archivin’ and… complainin’ to the town council that no one wants to talk about the archives.”

“Is he even on the town council?” Antigone asked. 

Georgie shrugged. 

“Did you really bring me down here to talk about a museum?” she asked. “I thought it’d be more excitin’ than that.”

“Why else would I bring you down here?”

“Someone’s got to plan your hen party,” said Georgie. 

“Jesus wept! I am _not_ having a hen party. I just want to get Rudyard off my back so Henry and I can get married.”

“All right, fine, I’ll plan the hen party, jeeze.”

Antigone glowered at Georgie. She hadn’t thought about a hen party, much less wanted one. Who would come? Antigone thought of Rudyard’s long guest list for the wedding and her stomach flipped. None of the people he and Chapman had listed would come to her wedding. Maybe some people would come for Henry. Somehow, she thought that anyone who did come for him would also want him to do a full medical exam during the vows. 

“Maybe Henry and I should just elope,” Antigone said. “Leave Piffling Vale and seek our fortunes together in the great unknown.”

“You still could,” Georgie said. “I heard there’s talk of expandin’ the bus stop when the hospital gets torn down.”

“The bus stop!” Antigone froze and looked at Georgie. “Do you think the village hoodlums are still there?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve been protestin’ capitalist expansion projects in front of it for the last few days.”

“Thank Christ,” Antigone said, relaxing. “I’ll go and seek their counsel when I finish with the client.”

“Right,” Georgie said. “So if that’s all you needed…”

“It isn’t.” Antigone picked up her folder with the speech inside and offered it to Georgie. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Top secret weddin’ plans?” she asked. 

“Henry and I think it’d be best if you proposed the museum to the council. Henry obviously has too big a stake in the renovation of St. Spratt’s for Mayor Desmond to take him seriously and I’m very clearly biased in Henry’s favor.”

“Did you ask Rudyard to do it?”

“No, Henry and I wanted you.”

“Aw, cheers, guys.” Georgie flipped through the speech. Worrying her lip she looked up. “And you’re sure you don’t want to ask… you know…”

“We already told Rudyard no.”

“I was thinkin’ Eric, actually,” Georgie said. “This is kinda his job on the village council.”

“How dare you,” Antigone said with a gasp. “I wouldn’t ask Eric Chapman for favors.”

“Nah, especially not after he covered for you while you and Henry were shackin’ up in the south of France…”

Antigone flushed to the roots of her hair. 

“Yes, exactly. Not after that, no,” she said. “Georgie… please? Consider it an early wedding gift?”

“I was thinkin’ of gettin’ you two a toaster,” she said. “But a museum works, too.”

Antigone could have hugged Georgie then. Instead she thanked her profusely and didn’t force Georgie to stay as she resumed work on Mrs. Whitson’s body. After she set the machine to work without her, Antigone washed her hands and scurried upstairs and outside to seek the aid of the local village hoodlums. She found them, as Georgie said, at the bus stop, engrossed in conversation.

“- But that’s the problem with late stage capitalism, innit?” Roz said. “Corporations commodify our time and our bodies, so that it’s impossible to spend much time anywhere without having to spend money.”

“That’s why public libraries are the most radical form of entertainment available to the masses,” said Wez. “They offer a place to be and to engage with society without demanding anything of the visitor.”

“Hang on,” Baz said. “Libraries _do_ demand the payment of taxes in order to fund their infrastructure and pay their employees. Can we truly say they are divorced from late stage capitalism?”

The other two “oohed” and Antigone thought of the library and of Mrs. Edgeware and her youth spent devouring smutty novels between the shelves while keeping an eye out for Henry or any other attractive somebody to star in her imaginings of the books she read. A small smile tipped her lips upwards. 

“What if there was a museum that offered monthly community nights, free of charge to the public?” she asked. The three teenagers looked at her. Though they didn’t smile and Antigone hung back a little anxiously, something about the atmosphere cheered. 

“Hullo, Miss Antigone,” the hoodlums chorused. 

“Let Miss Antigone sit down,” Roz said.

“Yeah, shove off, prick! Miss Antigone wants to sit!”

“Shut up!”

They shuffled good naturedly on the bench and Antigone sat beside Roz. She looked at each hoodlum in turn and then said, “What would you think of an art museum here in Piffling Vale?”

“Would it really be free to the public once a month?” Wez asked seriously. 

“It could be, yes.” 

“No doubt the tastemakers of Piffling would decide what gets to go on display. Bloody wankers. Sorry, Miss Antigone.”

“Now, hang on,” Roz said. “Who makes the taste in Piffling, but the people? Aren’t artistic works only popularized because people enjoy them?”

“Yeah, but _which people_?” Baz asked. “It’s all well and good to say that the people’s opinions matter, but people can only have an informed opinion on art they see, so the curators and donors to museums become gatekeepers of the vast artistic world, just out of reach.”

“And what if _you_ were the tastemakers?” Antigone asked. 

“Is that a serious question?” Baz asked.

“Now, hang on,” said Wez, “what would exempt us from placing arbitrary standards and limits on what art is displayed? Isn’t every museum somehow a reflection of some art critic’s personal taste?”

“Ooh… Discuss!”

“No,” Antigone said. “It is a serious offer. My fiance and I are planning to convert St. Spratt’s into an art museum rather than tear it down when the mayor makes Chapman Community into the island’s only hospital.”

“Local government, am I right?” said Wez.

“Capitalist pigs,” Roz agreed.

“Fiancé?” Baz asked. “Tell us about him.”

“Or her!” Roz jabbed him in the arm.

“Or her,” Baz conceded. “Let’s see the ring, dear.”

Antigone extended her hand, vibrating with delight to show off her ring. It occurred to her very suddenly that she hadn’t shown Rudyard or even Georgie, not really. In the misty afternoon, the stones still managed to gleam. The hoodlums “oohed” and “ahhed” as they looked on. 

“Who’s the lucky man?” Wez asked.

“Or woman!” Roz and Baz said. 

“Or woman, sorry,” Wez contended. 

“Henry Edgeware,” Antigone said, voice soft with a smile. “He proposed while we were on vacation in France.”

“Doctor Edgeware? Oh, he’s proper fit,” said Baz. 

“Good for you,” said Roz.

“Isn’t a proposal in France a bit of a genre cliche?” asked Wez. “I mean, the romance genre already sets us up with unrealistic expectations of potential partners and of ourselves and of intimacy in general.”

“Shut up!” said Roz. 

“It was what I wanted,” Antigone said. “Cliche or not, I always dreamed of being proposed to in France by a handsome man - or woman.”

“I knew it,” Roz said, extending her palm to her co-conspirators. 

Wez and Baz grumbled and slipped her some cash. 

“You said something about an art museum?” Baz said. 

Antigone explained the proposal for the art museum to the three hoodlums - Henry’s desire to preserve the historic building, her desire to turn it into something beautiful, and their plan to renovate it. 

“We want the council and archival staff to take the project over,” Antigone said. “I mean, we have a wedding to plan. But we _really_ want it in capable hands and… well…”

“Isn’t your brother the archival staff?” Wez asked. 

Antigone grimaced. “Exactly, yes.”

“Chapman’s in charge of cultural affairs on the village council,” said Baz. Then, frowning, he said, “Isn’t he dating your brother?”

Antigone nodded uncomfortably. 

“I mean, he’s well capable,” said Wez. “He built all of Chapman’s in a day and a half.”

“Shut up!” the other two hissed. 

“No wonder you want people you can trust on the job,” said Roz. “But, don’t you worry we’ll take your vision for the art museum and make it our own?”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” Antigone said. “The three of you were made to run an art museum.”

“Aww, thanks, Miss Antigone.”

“If you’re offering it for free to the public,” said Wez, “will the gig pay? Or will there be an increase in property taxes on Piffling?”

“I- er- well-”

“We can’t work for nothing, you know,” Wez continued. “We’ve already got a full-time gig as the village hoodlums.”

“Mayor Desmond _pays you_?” Antigone asked.

“I know,” Wez said, shrugging guiltily. “None of us wanted to be part of the capitalist machine-”

“But the mayor seemed so sad when we tried to refuse the money,” Baz said. “I mean, it’s well above minimum wage-”

“It’s the least he could do for us, though, innit?” Roz said. “I mean, after everything we do for this village-”

" _Town."_

“If we can keep that gig and work at the museum, I don’t suppose Miss Antigone _has_ to pay us.”

“The unpaid internship is the modern answer to labor shortages. The modern indentured servitude,” Roz said. 

“I don’t suppose we could be interns for you as a wedding gift?” Baz asked. “I mean, labor is just as valuable as any material good-”

“More valuable,” said Wez. “We’re offering our times and talents to Miss Antigone and her museum and that’s worth more than a toaster-”

“- And we can use it to convince Mayor Desmond we’re a wanted commodity in the community,” said Roz. “We might be able to drive up our salaries as the _town_ hoodlums.”

“Miss Antigone,” Baz said. “We’d be honored to work in your museum.”

“Yeah, make sure your brother and Chapman don’t ruin your artistic vision,” said Roz.

“When do we start?” Wez asked. 

“Thank you!” Antigone’s eyes were hot and she didn’t know why or why she had the urge to hug each of the hoodlums in turn. She didn’t, of course. They had a reputation to maintain. “Thank you, hoodlums. This is a fantastic wedding present! We’re presenting the plans to town hall. Can you be there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Our pleasure.”

“Don’t forget to invite us to the wedding!”

As Antigone set off from the bus stop, back towards home and Henry, she couldn’t help but think that maybe St. Spratt’s stood a fighting chance and so too did her sanity. Soon, Rudyard and Chapman would be under the supervision of the village hoodlums and she would finally have the peace and quiet she needed to plan the wedding she wanted and live her happily ever after with the man she loved.

If only she could see the man she loved now as he scheduled their first cake tasting appointment at Chapman’s bakery across town, Antigone might have known better than to hope for peace and quiet. 


	6. Talking to Town Hall

“You did what?”

Antigone Funn stared at her fiancé, eyes wide and jaw slack, as he calmly continued to take Miss Scruple’s blood pressure. Henry released the hand pump and watched the hands on the face of the cuff swing into place. 

“It’s not so bad,” Henry said. 

“You scheduled our cake tasting for tomorrow!” Antigone said. “It’s a premature victory!”

“I meant, Miss Scruple’s blood pressure.” Henry wrote some numbers down. “One-eighteen over seventy-five.”

“Ooh,” said Miss Scruple. “I have no idea what that means, doctor.”

“Nor do I,” said Henry. “But it’s within normal range, so probably nothing.”

“Henry!”

Henry looked at Antigone. If she could reach the stethoscope around his neck, Henry was very certain she’d strangle him with it. Sighing, he put it to Miss Scruple’s back to have a listen to her lungs. 

“I know you’re frustrated with your brother trying to take the helm on planning our wedding,” he said, “but I think I’m within my rights as your groom-to-be to make appointments with the bakery for a cake testing. It’s my wedding, too.”

“Are you getting married, Antigone?” Miss Scruple asked. “When did you get engaged to be married?”

“We haven’t done  _ any _ planning!” Antigone said, ignoring her. “None! There’s a million things to do before we pick out a cake. There’s the guest list and the date and my dress and your tuxedo and-”

“I was under the impression you had at least some of that planned.”

“When was I supposed to plan it?” Antigone asked. “I’ve been working and trying to get things prepared for the museum and you’ve been with me at home every night since we got back!”

“She’s got you there, Doctor Edgeware.”

“Then what’s all this?” 

Henry walked over to his desk and pulled out an old notebook. Antigone gasped as he showed her the newspaper cutout letters:  _ Antigone’s Bridal Journal: DO NOT OPEN. _

“He’s got you there, Antigone,” said Miss Scruple. 

“That’s  _ private!” _ Antigone said. “Where did you get this?”

“I went by the funeral home,” he said. “I wanted to ask Georgie if you’d talked to her but I ran into your brother and Eric and Rudyard said you two had talked and then he gave me this and I booked a cake tasting appointment with Eric-”

“He had  _ no right _ !” Antigone protested. “Those are  _ personal _ and  _ private _ plans I made twenty years ago! You’re not meant to see them!”

“Then why does it say ‘Property of Mrs. Antigone Edgeware’ on the inside cover?”

“Shut up! Oh… I’m going to become an only child when I find Rudyard…!”

Antigone scowled and snatched the notebook from Henry. Despite her stern tone, Henry smiled at her. He came around the other side of the hospital bed and took Antigone’s wrist gingerly. 

“I didn’t go through it,” he said. “I thought we could do that together, tonight, over dinner and a bottle of wine. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think Rudyard went through it  _ either _ . He couldn’t help but show me some of  _ his _ plans for the wedding and I think if he  _ had  _ gone through your notes - twenty years old or not - he would have never chosen lilies for the floral arrangements.”

“He only chose lilies because he can get them on sale for funerals!”

“Exactly,” Henry said. “And when I saw  _ your _ journal among the bridal magazines he and Eric had out, I thought you might want it back so he didn’t use it to justify choices he made for  _ our _ wedding.”

Antigone groaned. She put her forehead on Henry’s chest. He rubbed between her shoulders.

“When did you and Doctor Edgeware get engaged, Antigone?” Miss Scruple asked. “I do like a good love story.”

Antigone groaned again. 

“I don’t want to move ever again,” she said into Henry’s lab coat. 

“You don’t have to,” said Henry, “but it’ll be hard to conduct the rest of Miss Scruple’s physical if you stay like this much longer.”

“That’s all right, doctor,” Miss Scruple said. “We all thought you were never going to get married, but I guess now that your Esther is out of the picture, Antigone’s been smart enough to tie you down. He’s the second most eligible bachelor on Piffling, you know.”

Henry groaned. 

“It’s true. You could do much worse, Antigone, dear,” Miss Scruple said. “He has all his own teeth and a medical practice. That’s more than I can say for most of the men on Piffling. And you couldn’t do any better, Doctor Edgeware. I mean, couldn’t you, Henry? Antigone’s grown into a lovely young woman with her own career. It’s just a shame you didn’t propose to her before she started getting those crow’s feet... Don’t think I don’t remember the way you fancied Antigone in school. Your mother used to talk all about it at the book club, how you liked the weird, little girl who brought dead animals to school to embalm them… Didn’t you write a poem about her? Didn’t you, Henry? You did fancy Antigone back then, didn’t you? Your mother would be so proud of you for finally proposing to Antigone Funn after all those years you had a crush on her in school…You really couldn’t do any better.”

“Thank you, Miss Scruple,” Antigone said, smiling over Henry’s shoulder at her. When she caught Henry’s gaze, they wore matching, sheepish expressions. “I should let you two get back to your appointment.”

Miss Scruple waved. 

“I’ve had plenty of physicals; I’ll have plenty more,” she said. “But you only get married once if you do it right.”

“Thank you, Miss Scruple-”

“I never got married,” she continued blithely. “I used to think to myself,  _ Ooh, Dottie, that’s the last thing you need - a man to mind after, whose only going to slow you down and become a burden when his eyesight goes and his hearing. Much better off without one around the house _ -”

“Thank you, Miss Scruple,” Henry said tightly. “Maybe I should have a look at those bunions of yours after all-”

“I don’t have regrets, of course,” Miss Scruple said. “But I don’t suppose there’s a substitute for a warm body at the end of the day, someone to give love and affection to, someone to love you back-”

The door cracked open. One of the other doctors, one Henry recognized but wasn’t sure the name of, stuck his head in. 

“Doctor Edgeware, your fiancée can’t just come into another patient’s appointment!”

“He’s right, you know,” Miss Scruple said. “It’s a violation of patient privacy.”

“I should get going,” Antigone said. “We have the village council meeting tonight.”

“We’ll celebrate after,” Henry said, kissing her as she lifted her gaze to meet his. 

“With your sodding cake tasting tomorrow morning,” Antigone agreed. 

“Don’t murder your brother,” said Henry. “We still need him to helm the museum project when the council approves our plan.”

“I make no promises.”

“Congratulations, Antigone, dear!” Miss Scruple said, waving after her. “Now, doctor, about those bunions…”

Antigone skulked out of St. Spratt’s, taking time to admire the windows and flooring of the building, glad to know that the bones of her museum were sturdy. Not long at all and this place would be an art museum and gallery, then, her wedding venue. She imagined a colorless dress that trailed after her in the corridors as she floated towards Henry at an altar somewhere in this labyrinth. Shivering with delight, Antigone was certain they were doing the right thing. It wasn’t until one of the nurses asked if she was all right when she was caught caressing her own cheek and gazing out a window that Antigone finally left St. Spratt’s behind for the day. She said nothing to Rudyard upon returning to Funn Funerals for the rest of the workday and little else as they closed for the night. 

“I hear you’ve asked Georgie to give your big speech tonight,” Rudyard said at six o’clock as they both readied for the town hall meeting. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Would it have been wiser to have you give it?” Antigone hissed. “You didn’t even like my speech!”

“I just think it’s odd to ask  _ Georgie _ to give it!” Rudyard looked at her, shaking his jacket out. “She isn’t even on the council!”

“Neither are you!”

“We don’t know that!”

“The council respects her, Rudyard,” Antigone said. “More than they respect me and-”

“Go on.”

“That’s not the point, never mind.”

“More than they respect me, you were going to say,” said Rudyard. “In that case, why didn’t you just ask Chapman to do it? Cultural affairs are under his purview and if you’re going for someone the entire council likes…”

“Lady Templar doesn’t like him,” said Antigone. “Not since you started dating him.”

“I am not dating Eric Chapman. We’re business rivals and occasionally we keep each other company, but I draw the line at holding hands. Sometimes kissing.”

“You know, I’d be happy for you if you were dating Eric Chapman,” said Antigone. “The whole village would be.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. The whole town would only be happy for me if I dropped dead.”

“ _ Rudyard _ , I know you’re dating Chapman. The whole town knows you’re dating Chapman. Even the hoodlums know you’re dating Chapman.”

“What’s he telling people?”

“ _ Rudyard… _ You’ve been planning my wedding with him. He doesn’t have to tell anyone anything.” 

“No one knows he’s doing that!”

“I know he’s doing that!” Antigone said. “So does Georgie, so does Henry.”

“What are you telling people?”

“Nothing... yet. I think the rest of town can figure it out for themselves.”

Rudyard scowled. 

“I’m not saying you’re right, but if you are, what would my dating Eric Chapman have to do with his popularity? Surely everyone still likes him just the same. I’m not so despised that people hate my boyfriend by virtue of us  _ dating _ …”

“Would you like to be the one to tell Georgie that Eric Chapman is now going to give the speech I asked her to give?” Antigone asked. “Be my guest.”

“I wouldn’t tell Georgie that,” Rudyard said. “She’d never agree to it.”

“She’d never agree to what?” Georgie asked, coming into the main room from the kitchen. 

Rudyard’s scowl deepened. He went to the mouse hole in the skirting board to see if Madeline wanted to come along to the town hall meeting. They spoke quietly to each other for a moment and he lifted her to his pocket and returned to Antigone. Madeline squeaked reproachfully at Rudyard. Frowning, Antigone looked at her brother.

“What did she say?” Georgie asked. 

“It’s none of your business. Let’s go.”

The three of them stepped outside into the evening lamplight. Antigone wanted the walk to town hall to feel  _ normal _ somehow, like before she’d gotten engaged and moved out of Funn Funerals. Her hopes were dashed on the rocks as Eric Chapman stepped out of Chapman’s and waved.

“Hello, Funns!” he said. He jaunted down the steps and crossed the road. His hand slipped into Rudyard’s. “Good to see you.”

Somehow, Antigone felt like Chapman was speaking only to Rudyard. She looked at their hands and then caught Madeline’s eye, then Georgie’s. Somehow, without Rudyard translating, she got the feeling she could guess what Madeline had been chastising Rudyard for at home. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her dress. Georgie knocked shoulders with her gently and smiled. 

“Last chance to ask your brother or Eric to give the speech,” she said. “I’m happy to do it, but I know you need to get them off your back.”

“Thank you, Georgie,” Antigone said. “But they don’t  _ deserve _ to propose my idea to town hall.”

“Henry said you have another proposal for the town council,” Chapman said before Georgie could say anything in response. “He also booked a cake tasting for tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with my fiancé,” Antigone said. Then, blanching, she stopped walking. “He booked it with you?”

“Well, Chapman’s does have the only bakery on the island,” Chapman said apologetically. “I’ll be whipping up some samples tonight.”

Antigone groaned. 

“This is why you need me to plan your wedding,” Rudyard said. “I would have never booked you a cake testing with Chapman.”

“You’re holding hands with the man!” 

“That doesn’t mean I think he can bake,” said Rudyard. “It’s chilly and I didn’t bring my gloves.”

Georgie snickered, Antigone rolled her eyes, and Chapman tugged Rudyard closer “for warmth” without protest. Antigone was certain that this was their new normal and she wasn’t certain if she liked it. Fortunately, when they reached town hall, she saw Henry pacing in front of the steps. Antigone pulled her hands from her pockets and wrapped them around his.

“Is someone covering your night shift?” she asked. 

“Multiple someones,” said Henry. “I’ll never get used to it.”

“I know the feeling,” Antigone said, watching as Rudyard and Chapman broke their hand hold to walk into town hall and Georgie rolled her eyes, making some kind of pointed comment at the two men. “But some changes are for the better?”

“For the best.” Henry slipped his arm around her waist. “Shall we get a seat?”

Town hall meetings weren’t so different from village hall meetings. The council members hadn’t changed and they still sat at a large table in the same room the mayor hosted his all-night blackjack tournaments. They still meandered off task easily and saw the biscuits from The Broken Tooth as the highlight of the evening. But the budget had increased just a little and so, too, did their audience. Members of the public had always been allowed to come to council meetings in Piffling Vale, but until they were a town, no one had ever bothered. Antigone and Henry squeezed into seats in the back row and ducked out of the way as Agatha Doyle squeezed past, carrying a tray full of sweets and snacks that she was selling one-for-two like a vendor at a sporting event. 

“Get your sweets before the meet!” she called out. “We have butterscotch and mint imperials and- oh! Gosh, I’m sorry, Antigone! I didn’t see you there!”

“It’s all right, Miss Doyle,” Antigone said, ducking out of the way of Agatha’s sweet tray. “No harm done.”

“I suppose if there had been, it’d be lucky you’re sitting next to the town’s doctor,” Agatha said.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Miss Doyle,” said Henry, taking Antigone’s hand. 

“Oh, no?” Agatha asked. “What makes you say that?”

“Henry and I are engaged to be married,” Antigone said. She held up her hand so Agatha could see the ring.

“I’ll say! Congratulations to you both!” Agatha reached onto her tray and offered them each a bag of praline clusters. “For the happy couple, to celebrate. Do let me know when the wedding is!”

She returned to vending her wares up and down the aisles and slowly the meeting came to order. 

“Miss Crusoe,” said the mayor. “Do you have tonight’s agenda? I understand that tonight is a  _ special _ town hall meeting…”

Some murmurs rippled through the crowd. 

“Yeah.” Georgie handed the mayor a paper agenda and passed out copies to the rest of the council. “Antigone Funn wants to petition the council to turn St. Spratt’s hospital into an art museum.”

“Where is Miss Antigone Funn?” the mayor asked. 

“Sitting next to that remarkably well-rested gentleman over there,” said Reverend Wavering, pointing Antigone and Henry out to his husband. 

“Good lord, is that Doctor Edgeware?” Mayor Desmond asked. “He does look well-rested, doesn’t he?”

Murmurs of agreement spread across the council; Chapman nodded.

“I say,” said Lady Templar, “I never noticed just how handsome the good doctor was. I feel a bit feverish just looking at him.” 

She fanned herself for emphasis. Antigone’s hand tightened around Henry’s. 

“Vivienne,” said Chapman, “he’s very clearly here with Antigone.”

Lady Templar stiffened.

“Is he, Chappers? In the same way that you’re  _ very clearly here _ with Rudyard Funt?”

“ _ Funn _ ,” Rudyard said, peering around the other council members to glare at her. “And I told you already: I  _ would _ be sitting next to Chapman, but he is  _ required by town charter _ to sit next to the mayor.”

“You’re the only one who’s read the charter,” said Mayor Desmond. “You could have sat next to Eric if you wanted to.”

“Oi, you lot,” Georgie said. “We can argue about who sits where  _ after _ we vote on an art museum. All in favor?”

"Georgie, the speech-" Antigone said through clenched teeth. 

“An art museum sounds expensive,” the mayor said. “Could we afford an art museum? Nigel? How is the budget looking?”

“After collections on Sunday, it looks like we have just over twenty quid,” Reverend Wavering said. 

“Hmm,” said Mayor Desmond. “Not quite enough for an art museum…”

“Not even close,” said Lady Templar. “Now, to the  _ seating arrangement _ …”

“Hang on,” said Chapman, “Antigone has put forth brilliant ideas to the council before. I’m sure she has a plan in place this time…”

The entire town council turned to face Antigone. So too did the audience gathered in town hall. Antigone hemmed and looked around frantically. She could see her brother’s exasperation, Georgie and Chapman looking at her with encouraging concern, Henry holding her gaze steady. She squeezed his hand. 

“Well…” she said.

The doors to town hall burst open. Three hoodie-clad figures stood in the entryway. Wez and Roz held cans of spray paint in their hands like weapons. Between them, Baz stood and offered a conciliatory shrug. 

“Sorry we’re late, Miss Antigone,” he said. 

“You brought the village hoodlums to a town hall meeting?” Lady Templar asked, not bothering to hide her condescension. She cackled. “She’s gone mad.”

“Who’s this bird?” Wez asked. 

“The infamous Lady Templar,” Roz said with a groan. “We trimmed her topiary last spring.”

Lady Templar gasped.

“I knew it was you!” she said.

“Good,” said Wez. “We were bloody proud of those hedges.” 

“Mayor Desmond, members of the council,” Antigone said, standing up and rushing over to the hoodlums, “I’m sorry for the interruption, but these young people represent the workforce that will be employed by the art museum at St. Spratt’s. Thank you, you three, for coming.”

“Miss Funn,” said the mayor. “How do you propose paying these young people to work in your museum on a budget of twenty pounds?” 

“She won’t, duh,” said Roz.

“We’re proud to be a part of the cultural experience of ‘the unpaid internship’,” said Baz. 

“Proud is a strong word,” said Roz.

“But it’s our wedding present for Miss Antigone, see?” said Wez. 

“Wedding present?” the reverend asked. 

Antigone tinged pink. Henry rose from his seat and picked his way through the aisle to come and stand by her and the hoodlums. He took her hand. 

“Wedding present, yes,” she said softly. 

“Antigone, that’s wonderful news!” said Reverend Wavering. “Are you marrying Doctor Edgeware then? Oh, this is a match made in heaven! If it exists, of course!” 

A buzzing excitement electrified the meeting room as well-wishers congratulated Henry and Antigone and Antigone wanted to seep through the floorboards. After a few moments of awkward elation, there was a steady banging of a ceramic mug on the table. Lady Templar eyed her fellow council members, the gathered townsfolk, and Antigone with measured irritation. 

“That’s all well and good,” she said, “but I’d like to put the whole matter of an art museum to rest before we get too carried away. We simply do not have the funds for an art museum, even if all the employees are unpaid interns.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Georgie said. “According to Antigone’s plan for the museum, we’ll just need volunteers to clean out St. Spratt’s and the doctors are doing most of that already, since they’re moving everything over to Chapman’s. And her plan advocates displaying community-made art, so we could host a contest to find the best pieces. Really, it’s not that hard, it just takes some careful planning... maybe from our cultural events planner and our archivist.”

“What a marvelous idea!” Reverend Wavering said. “Oh, Dezzy, think of all the ways this will bring our little town together!”

“Right you are, Nigel!” Mayor Desmond said. “All in favor?”

Not counting Rudyard, who may or may not have been an official member on the town council, there three yeses. Only Lady Vivienne Templar dissented and even then, she was swiftly brought around when, under the influence of malt balls, she asked to have a wing named after her and offered to donate pieces from her personal and extensive collection of artistic artefacts. Victorious, Antigone and Henry, the hoodlums, Rudyard, Chapman, and Georgie, and the rest of the village council filed in the streets. No sooner than they reached the bottom of the steps did Reverend Nigel Wavering place a hand on Henry’s shoulder. He squeezed fondly. 

“Henry, my boy, you couldn’t have picked a finer woman on this island,” he said. “If the two of you should decide to get married in the church, it’d be my honor to officiate.”

“Of course, Reverend, thank you,” Henry said. 

“And should you need any pre-wedding counseling,” Reverend Wavering continued, “please come and see me.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Antigone said. 

“Especially regarding certain things that may or may not come up within the confines of the marriage bed, if you understand my meaning…”

“All right, thank you, reverend!” Henry said tightly. “I think we’ll manage but we’ll… keep that in mind.”

“Oh my God…” muttered Antigone. 

Reverend Wavering and Mayor Desmond began to walk towards the vicarage.

“Does he know you wrote ‘Scandalliances’?” Henry asked, watching them walk away.

“I… May have had a co-author,” Antigone said. “Shut up! Forget I told you that!”

Henry sighed. He pulled Antigone close. 

“One day,” he said, “I’m going to have to hear all about my wife’s wild past, writing erotica with the town vicar.”

“I can’t hear you…”

He kissed her cheek and tilted her head so he could kiss her lips. Antigone sighed against Henry.

“We should get home,” he said. “I need to feed Esther.”

“Home,” Antigone echoed, but her eyes looked past Henry and followed Rudyard and Chapman as they trekked back across the square. Henry followed her gaze.

“Are you not ready to move in with me?” he asked. “It isn’t too late to-”

“No! I just… Most of my things are still at Funn Funerals,” she said. “After the cake tasting, Rudyard and I have a funeral… Well. Rudyard has a funeral. I have an empty mortuary.”

“Maybe we should take that time to get your things,” Henry said. “If you’d like.”

“You have work tomorrow,” said Antigone. “I’ll do it myself after the cake tasting. You should save your leave time for the honeymoon.”

“I have plenty of vacation time saved up,” Henry said. “But if you’d rather do it alone, I respect that.”

They walked together towards home - his home,  _ their _ home - and Antigone felt warm despite the evening chill. 

“Did you hear everyone at the town hall meeting?” she asked softly.

“Yes, they’re going to go forward with the art museum.”

“They were happy for us. Did you ever think they would be?”

“Did you ever think they  _ wouldn’t _ be?” Henry asked. “I’m marrying the love of my life. If anyone  _ isn’t _ happy for me about that, I don’t need them in my life. Do you?”

“No, you’re right.” Antigone paused. “I just never thought they’d be happy that the love of your life is  _ me _ . Am I really the love of your life, Henry?”

Henry smiled.

“And more, Antigone. So much more.” 


	7. A Piece of Cake

Early risers by nature, Henry and Antigone danced around each other in the kitchen while a misty sunrise trembled over the horizon. Last night, over a bottle of wine, they’d pored over the pages of Antigone’s teenaged fantasies. They’d laughed and kissed and bantered and bickered until studying the pages of her childhood dreams turned to studying the curves and angles of one another. Now, half-awake and happy, she undersalted the eggs and he overcooked the bacon, but their toast was made to perfection. They ate at the dining table with Esther, who watched their domestic bliss with what Henry would have sworn was fondness. Henry admired Antigone’s hands, one which he held stubbornly, for their calluses and dexterity. She had long fingers, strong fingers, and he knew what they were capable of and it was as he forsook his breakfast to kiss her fingers that there was a sharp knock at the door. Henry groaned. 

“Twenty eight doctors on this bloody island,” he said, “and they still come here first!”

“We could pretend we’re not home and wait for them to go away,” Antigone suggested. 

“I took an oath. If someone needs medical attention, I can’t deny them.” 

Henry slid into his lab coat. The knocking grew insistent. Impatient.  _ Familiar _ .

“Antigone, I know you’re in there!”

“Jesus wept!” Antigone scrambled to her feet and snatched at Henry’s arm as Rudyard continued to rap on the front door. “Can we  _ please _ pretend we aren’t home?”

Henry sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Your brother is mostly harmless-”

“Remind me  _ how many _ patients you had to admit because of his mandolin playing.”

“Point taken.”

“I can  _ hear _ you moving around in there!” Rudyard said, still knocking. “Antigone-!”

Antigone marched to the door and threw it open. She angled her body so that Rudyard could not see too far into the house. 

“What?”

“So  _ this _ is where you’re shacking up with your lover,” Rudyard said, craning his neck and trying to see over Antigone’s shoulder. “Your  _ love nest _ , if you will-”

“It isn’t a  _ secret _ ,” Antigone said. “Henry and I are  _ engaged _ and there’s nothing improper about two, betrothed adults sharing a home.”

“Yes, fine. I came to see if you two were ready for your appointment.”

“Appointment?” 

Antigone looked at Henry. His shoulders slumped into a shrug. 

“Rudyard, if you have an appointment, it will have to be with another doctor,” said Henry. “Today, Antigone and I are going cake tasting for the wedding-”

“Yes, exactly that,” said Rudyard. “Your appointment with Chapman for cake tasting. Not everything is a medical emergency,  _ doctor _ .”

“It isn’t for another hour at least!” said Antigone. 

“I was able to get you an exclusive consultation with the baker,” Rudyard said. 

“With your boyfriend, you mean,” Antigone muttered. 

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, “Chapman has graciously offered to open the bakery an hour early for the pair of you and if you insist upon looking a gift horse in the mouth-”

“It’s very kind of you both, Rudyard,” Henry said civilly.

“No, it isn’t,” said Antigone. “Let me guess: Chapman has closed the funeral home for the day.”

“And Georgie’s agreed to man the phones at ours, yes,” Rudyard said. “Now, Antigone, go do something with your hair and put your shoes on. We don’t want to be late.”

“We?”

“You, me, and Doctor Edgeware, yes,” Rudyard said. There was a soft squeak in his pocket. “And Madeline, of course. Chop, chop.”

“Rudyard, you can’t bring a mouse into a bakery,” Antigone said. “Sorry, Madeline. We already lost one cafe because of Rudyard’s disregard for social norms. Chapman may have to close his bakery if you’re seen in the kitchens.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” said Rudyard, “Your boyfriend-”

“Fiancé.”

“Your  _fiancé_ brings a great bloody macaw to Chapman’s bar once a week. I don’t see why you would have such a gross double standard.”

“It isn’t _ once a week, _ ” said Henry, “But I see your point.”

Antigone glowered at Henry. Then, sucking in her cheeks so that her cheekbones appeared even sharper, she looked back at Rudyard. Her expression did not soften. 

“Are you using my wedding cake tasting appointment to sabotage your boyfriend?” she asked. “I thought you’d given up on making his life a living hell.”

“Oh, no,” Rudyard said. “I’ve found new ways to make his life a living hell.”

“I’m going to put on some real trousers,” Henry announced. “And my shoes. Antigone, yours are by the couch. Then we’ll go.”

“By the couch?” Rudyard echoed, watching as Henry plucked up stray pieces of clothing from around the living room. “What sort of den of iniquity is this? You were never so careless with your  _ shoes  _ at home…”

If Antigone argued with him, Henry didn’t stay to listen. Instead, he went to prepare for the day ahead and when he returned, the Funn siblings sat in tense silence in the living room, watching as Esther and Madeline bent their heads in deep discussion. 

“Are you finished stalling, then?” Rudyard asked as Henry came back into the room. 

“Would you rather I traipse into your boyfriend’s bakery without trousers?” Henry snapped. He looked at Antigone apologetically, but she could barely conceal a smile. She outstretched her hand and Henry took it with a smile of his own. 

“Madeline is going to stay and keep Esther company,” Antigone said.

“Yes, she’s going to give her reading lessons,” Rudyard said. “It’s really rather careless of you to set Esther up with the television all day when you have such a lovely library, doctor… I’m surprised your mother didn’t teach her to read before she passed…”

Henry stiffened. 

“Better late than never,” he said tightly. He plucked a book from the shelf and stroked the well-worn spine before crossing the room to Madeline and Esther. He offered it to them. “This may be a bit ambitious to start with, but I’m afraid I donated my old phonics books to the library-”

“I’m sure Madeline can pick out a suitable teaching book,” Rudyard said, craning his neck to get a good look at the book Henry had given to Madeline.

“I’m not talking to you, Rudyard,” Henry said. To Madeline, he said, “If you can teach her at least this passage here…”

He flipped it open and showed Madeline which part he meant. Her intelligent eyes scanned the pages and she nodded. She squeaked at Henry. Antigone and Henry looked at Rudyard.

“She says she’ll try,” he said tightly. “And thank you.”

Madeline squeaked again. Rudyard narrowed his eyes.

“What did she say now?”

“To have patience with me,” Rudyard said. “That you’re going to be a Funn soon enough and that it won’t do for her family to be at each other’s throats.”

“She said all that?” 

“My mouse is going to teach your parrot to read Jane Austen and you don’t think she can have insight on interpersonal relationships?”

She looked at Rudyard and gave another squeak. Rudyard folded his arms across his chest. 

“Yes, all right, I’ll try, too,” he grumbled. “But only since you asked me.”

“Now that  _ that’s _ settled,” Antigone said, standing, “weren’t you  _ so _ eager to take us to Chapman’s?”

The three humans shuffled out into the rain and made their way to Chapman’s. The sunshine broke through the clouds as they neared the premises. Antigone, wet and miserable, folded her arms over her chest and glared at Rudyard’s back as he sprinted up the steps. 

“I don’t understand why he has to invite himself along,” she muttered. “If Chapman’s is closed, shouldn’t he be trying to drum up more business for Funn Funerals?”

“Maybe he’s taken the day, too,” said Henry. 

“That doesn’t  _ sound _ like Rudyard. He says Georgie is manning the phones until we get back.”

“Then Georgie can handle any death-related emergencies that come up,” Henry said. “I’ll bet she’s great at handling death-related emergencies.”

“There are only two funeral homes on the island. If someone drops dead while they’re both closed, the entire island will descend into anarchy by morning.”

“Or someone on my staff will just store the bodies in the morgue until morning.”

“Could St. Spratt’s morgue handle an influx of dead bodies if there was total carnage?”

Henry reached into his pocket to hold his pager, talisman-like in his hand. He slid the back open to look at the battery.

“St. Spratt’s is only open until Chapman’s finishes renovations,” he said uneasily. 

Antigone cast a glance to the “Construction Site” signs blocking off the hospital wing of Chapman’s. The sound proof walls of Chapman’s prevented the sounds of construction from rattling the foundations. She made a sour face.

“Chapman will probably be done with them by the time we finish our cake tasting,” she said. 

“I hope not,” said Henry. “As soon as Chapman Community is ready, I’m sure I’ll have to move the patients from St. Spratt’s  _ again  _ and I’d rather spend the day with you.”

“But the sooner that’s done, the sooner we’ll be able to turn it into the art museum,” said Antigone. “St. Spratt’s, I mean.” 

“ _ Rudyard _ will turn it into the art museum,” Henry reminded her. “We just have to convince him it was his idea…”

“That shouldn’t be so hard… He’s incredibly gullible…”

Ahead of them, Rudyard was pressing the “up” button for the lift again and again. He tapped his foot as if he could shame the lift into moving faster. While he waited, Rudyard peeked at his watch.

“Look at him,” Antigone said. “He’ll probably take credit for the wedding, too…”

“The wedding is  _ ours _ ,” said Henry. “If he wants so badly to get married, he’ll propose to Chapman.”

Antigone’s eyes bulged as she looked over at her fiance.

“Christ, Henry! Why would you say that?”

“Don’t worry.” Henry put his hand to the small of Antigone’s back. “They’re both far too stubborn to propose.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” Antigone muttered. 

“A real shame,” said Henry. “If Rudyard was married, he wouldn’t worry so much about our engagement.”

“We’re already giving him a sodding museum to look after. What more does the man need to keep busy?”

The lift doors opened. 

“Will you two stop dawdling?” Rudyard snapped. “You’d think neither of you had better things to do than stare at construction signs and mutter sweet nothings to each other all day…”

The ride up to Chapman’s bakery was remarkably silent. Rudyard eyed his sister and Henry with pursed lips. He looked particularly at their twined hands. Antigone narrowed her eyes at him, silently daring him to say something stupid, like he always did. Was the ring too small? Not traditional enough? Was he worried about the cost? Antigone was sure Rudyard would say something, but he kept quiet for the three floors they rode the lift. Soft muzak filled the silence and when the doors dinged open, the air smelled of sugar. Rudyard stepped off the lift first, a man on a mission, and did not wait for Antigone and Henry before walking directly into the empty bakery. Usually at this time of morning, Chapman’s cafe and bakery bustled with customers and life and a steady cash flow. This morning, the seats were empty. One table had a “Reserved” card on it and an impossibly tall cloche. 

Antigone’s mind whirled as she wondered what might be underneath it. She and Henry had admired multi-tiered cakes she’d cut out from magazines and pasted into her notebook twenty years ago. They had been nestled together on the floor, half a bottle of wine in by the time they looked at cakes. Henry pressed his cheek to Antigone’s shoulder and she could feel his smile without looking.

“Where did you get all these bridal magazines?” he asked, stroking the yellowed pages. 

Antigone flushed crimson. 

“Your mother always gave me the last season’s bridal magazines instead of scrapping them,” she confessed. “I don’t think she knew what I used them for…”

“She would have approved,” Henry said.

“Of my desecration of library property?”

“Of  _ us _ ,” he’d corrected. “She would have been very proud to have you as a daughter-in-law. She used to mention you to me while I was away until one day she  _ stopped _ …”

“Because Rudyard started telling people I was dead?”

“I like these cake toppers,” Henry said. “Very surrealist.”

“ _ Henry _ …”

“I’m very glad you’re not dead,” he said, lifting his head. “But I do wish I’d thought to check for myself before believing anything your brother had to say on the matter.”

She’d kissed him then and they’d stopped looking at cakes for twenty minutes. Antigone thought of where she’d guided his hands in those twenty minutes and a rush of warm giddiness overcame her. The ringing of a countertop bell pulled Antigone from her half-foggy memories of last night. Rudyard was banging on the counter with obnoxious ferocity and calling Chapman’s name into the kitchen. Chapman emerged wearing an impeccably clean apron emblazoned with the words “Kiss the Cook” emblazoned on them.

“What in God’s name is that?” Rudyard asked, pointing.

“A suggestion,” said Chapman.

“Chapman, we are not on a date,” Rudyard said. “We are facilitating Antigone and Doctor Edgeware's date.”

“You said it was a double date,” said Chapman. “You actually used the words ‘double date.’”

“Yes, but I said it’d be  _ like _ a double date, not that it actually  _ was _ one,” Rudyard said. “Take that silly thing off before you embarrass yourself in front of Antigone and Doctor Edgeware.”

“I don’t see Antigone and-”

“Hello,” said Antigone. 

Chapman startled. 

“How do you do that?” he asked. “There aren’t even shadows in... Never mind.”

He untied his apron and hung it on a hook behind him and changed into a plain one, lightly coated in flour. 

“Rudyard says we have an exclusive consultation with the baker,” Henry said, looking around. “When will he get here?”

“I took the liberty of getting here early,” said Chapman. “If that’s okay.”

“You baked our wedding cake?” Antigone asked. “When did you learn how to bake?”

“I studied under a pastry chef in a Michelin star restaurant for eight months when I was in France,” said Chapman. “A long time ago…”

“Jesus wept-!” Antigone pressed her fingertips to her temples. 

“You could show a little gratitude,” said Rudyard. “How many brothers would find their sister a Michelin star chef to bake her wedding cake?” 

“He’s  _ your boyfriend _ ,” said Antigone. “You didn’t exactly go out of your way.” 

“Details.”

“Details  _ matter _ .”

Chapman and Henry exchanged concerned looks as the siblings began to bicker. 

“It is very kind of you,” said Henry. “I didn’t realize you were a Michelin star chef, Eric.”

“Oh, you know, happy to help…”

“Stop forming an alliance with him,” said Rudyard to Chapman. “He’s on my sister’s side.”

“As well I should be,” said Henry. “She’s my wife.”

“Not yet,” said Rudyard. “She’s still  _ my sister _ .”

“And I’ll still be your sister when I get married,” Antigone snapped. “Stop being dramatic.” 

“If you’ll follow me to the table,” Chapman said, “I’ll show you what we have in mind for your big day…”

Henry and the Funn twins sandwiched into the booth on one side. Chapman faced the three of them with a blithe smile, pointedly ignoring the murderous looks Rudyard and Antigone exchanged. 

“So, congratulations, you two,” he said to Henry and Antigone. “When’s the big day?”

“Oh…” said Henry.

“Ah…” said Antigone.

“Chapman, we discussed this already,” said Rudyard in a flat voice.

“Right.” Chapman pulled a pencil from behind his ear and scribbled something onto a little notepad. “How many guests are you planning on having?”

“We were thinking something intimate…” said Henry

“But more than three people because we’re contrary to popular belief, people like us enough to wish us well!” said Antigone.

“Chapman,” said Rudyard, “why are you wasting time? You and I  _ discussed this _ . Just show Antigone and Doctor Edgeware what we came up with.” 

“I wish Georgie was here,” Antigone muttered. 

“If Georgie were here, where would she sit?” asked Rudyard. “The three of us hardly fit in this side of the booth as it is.”

“I will murder you…” 

“Rudyard, it might be in everyone’s best interests if you sat by Eric,” said Henry. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because if you don’t, your sister may very well try to murder you and I’m off duty,” Henry said, “with diminishing reasons to provide you medical care.” 

“How’s that for gratitude!” Rudyard sulked over to the seat beside Chapman and plopped down with a noisy sigh. “Consider yourself lucky you don’t have siblings, Chapman.”

“I guess I’ll just have to share yours,” Chapman said. 

“I don’t know why you’d want to,” said Rudyard. 

“I just meant- I don’t know what I meant.”

Antigone and Henry spread out more comfortably on their side of the table. Once everyone was settled, Chapman stood up. He gripped the handle of the cloche and offered Henry and Antigone a dazzling smile.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what’s under the cloche,” he said. “After some careful consideration, Rudyard and I have made you the ideal wedding cake.”

“Hold on,” said Antigone. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Pardon?”

“You haven’t asked us any  _ questions _ !” she said. “Nothing about flavors or cake design! Do we want buttercream or icing? Do we like fondant? Do we even know what fondant is? What shape should the cake be? Do we want custom cake toppers?”

“Oh, um, well…” Chapman had the grace to look a little embarrassed. 

“‘ _ Oh, um, well _ ’?” Antigone hissed. “I thought this was a consultation!”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, also standing, “you don’t  _ need _ a consultation-”

“Clearly we don’t-”

“-because we made you some of each type of cake!” 

Rudyard seized the handle of the cloche and unveiled a tower of cupcakes that climbed three feet into the air. They were all frosted in bridal white with sleek foil liners. It was impossible to tell which cupcakes were which flavors. Antigone stared at the mountain of white cupcakes, jaw swinging open. 

“There’s lemon and strawberry and Italian crème,” said Chapman fondly, staring at his handiwork, but not at the bride-to-be.

“And carrot cake,” said Rudyard, staring at Chapman fondly. “And coffee and two kinds of chocolate-”

“- with jam and cream in the middle-”

“- and sugared violets as garnish.”

They looked at each other with unbridled excitement and the kind of fondness that was saccharine enough to make even the sugared violets taste bitter in comparison. 

“Cupcakes?” Antigone asked. “You are aware that this is for my wedding and not a child’s birthday party, aren’t you?” 

Chapman and Rudyard looked at Antigone as if she was interrupting something very important.

“Of course we know it’s for your wedding,” said Rudyard.

“They’re so versatile and cheerful,” Chapman said. “It’s what every bride wants.”

“And it lets you stretch your budget nicely,” said Rudyard.

“And allows the guests some choice at the dessert table…”

“And if you have left overs, they’re much easier to eat as cupcakes…” 

“And they’re very in vogue, very stylish…”

“And they look childish,” Antigone said. “I wanted something beautiful-”

“Like a dessert sculpture?” asked Chapman.

“I  _ told _ you that a box mix would have done the trick-”

Again, Chapman and Rudyard looked at each other and only each other. Henry rose from the table and put his hand down heavily. The “thud” startled Rudyard and Chapman into silence.

“All we wanted was a wedding cake!” Henry snapped. He sighed and his lips drew into a disappointed frown as he looked over the cupcake display. “Antigone had books upon books of bridal magazine clippings in the attic and I didn’t  _ think _ either of you had looked at Antigone’s notebooks, but I also hoped you would know her a bit better by now.” 

There was a taut silence, fit to break like a rubber band snapping. 

“Well, we liked them,” Rudyard said at long last.

“Then you can use them for your wedding,” said Henry. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Rudyard. “We’re not the ones getting married.”

“At least  _ try  _ the cupcakes,” said Chapman. “Then we can build a flavor profile for your customized wedding cake-”

“Fine,” said Antigone. “Which one is chocolate?”

Everyone looked at the cupcake tower, bedecked with cupcakes that were all the same shape, all the same shade of frosted white, and all in identical liners.

“Um,” said Chapman.

“Oh dear,” said Rudyard. 

“Unbelievable.” Antigone slid out of the booth. “I’m going to work and I don’t want to see you even remotely near my mortuary, Rudyard.”

“I need to get Mrs. Whitson’s body for the funeral!” 

“Georgie will do it,” Antigone said, “unless you want the next funeral to be  _ yours _ .”

Henry rose and followed Antigone to the door. Rudyard and Chapman watched them go in silence. They stared out the window looking into the hallway for a long moment, even after Henry and Antigone seized each other’s hands and hurried out of sight. 

“Blimey,” said Chapman when he and Rudyard were truly alone. He looked around the bakery, blinking owlishly at the untouched display. “What are we going to do with all of these cupcakes?”

“It’d be a waste to throw them away…” said Rudyard. “Especially after all the trouble you took to bake them.”

“Thanks, Rudyard. Cheers.” Chapman picked up a cupcake and offered it to him. “I think this one is coffee flavored.”

Rudyard took a bite and made a face. Chapman handed him a napkin into which Rudyard politely spit his first bite of cupcake. Hovering over him, Chapman almost asked what was wrong. He didn’t have to. Rudyard scrunched up his face and looked at him. 

_ “Lemon _ .” he said. “Better try them all until we find the ones we like…”

“Chalk that one up to experience,” said Chapman, reaching for another cupcake and un-foiling it to find chocolate beneath. “I’m sure there’s something to be learned from all this.”

“Yes,” said Rudyard. “The next time my sister gets married, we should only make her one type of wedding cake. What do you think about almond?” 


End file.
